


Youthful Ventures

by freakylemurcat



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: De-aging, M/M, Porn With Plot, taking artistic license with science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 115,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people would give a limb to relive their childhood. Some people are rather forced into it instead. Featuring an adorably-young Akihiko and a very-confused Misaki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was like something out of a bad sci-fi movie. Misaki sat in front of the television and watched intently as the newscasters fumbled for a way to explain the pandemic in simple terms. Quite often they failed, and instead staggered through the medical jargon on their teleprompters with slightly terrified expressions. When they turned to a doctor, there was a distinct sense of relief.

The doctor was a balding middle-aged man with a pair of glasses he kept having to push back up to the bridge of his nose. He didn't look comfortable in front of the cameras, but once talking about his subject he loosened up considerably.

"What's this?" Usagi-san leant down to drape himself over Misaki's shoulders, a mug of coffee in one hand. His hair tickled Misaki's ear and the smell of his shampoo drifted around lazily, a spiky mint scent that mixed well with the coffee.

Misaki stole the mug and sipped gingerly – it was as thick and hot as molten tar and black as night, the way Akihiko likes it – before Usagi-san grumbled for his coffee back. "That weird disease in Russia's started to spread world-wide, and everyone's panicking." He pursed his lips as one of the newscasters asked how dangerous the syndrome is and the doctor coughed nervously.

"We don't… erm… quite know yet," said the doctor, "Certainly there have been no known fatalities yet… And many of the cases resolve themselves within a month of presentation… But we cannot… um… be sure yet."

"You are not sure?" The male newscaster leant forward with a stern expression, which the doctor matched with one of his own.

"With such a disease, one with such high infectivity, it pays to hedge our bets. We cannot put aside the possibility that there will be complications – certainly the effects it has on the body are wide-ranging and quite severe. But as of yet – there are none seen."

Akihiko hummed thoughtfully and slurped his coffee right beside Misaki's ear.

"Don't be disgusting!" the younger man reprimanded him automatically, before a thought struck him. "Aren't you meant to be readying that new chapter for Aikawa-san? She's given you an extra three days to get it done this time."

"It'll be ready," said Akihiko vaguely, "At some point."

* * *

The day was bright and crisp; Misaki strode happily from the subway station, following the trail of students also heading into university. He had escaped Usagi-san's protective clutches and got the train in, begging the man to spare Aikawa-san the trouble this time and get his chapter done on time. It was possible it might even happen – the man had been working on his general difficultness, this time by improving his behaviour rather than sullenly worsening it. The ranges by which he had been missing deadlines recently have shortened impressively; he was only a few days off now.

Tōdō was waiting at the picnic table they had claimed as theirs, re-reading one of the Kan mangas with a preoccupied expression. Misaki took a short detour via the cafeteria to buy them both a bottle of cola, and then joined him at the table.

"Takahashi!" The law student put his manga down and accepted his drink gratefully. "When's your first class?"

Misaki checked his phone, frowning at the already present text from Usagi-san, proclaiming his love and telling him to have a good day. "In half an hour. It's the Demon Kamijou too…"

They both shudder; even though Tōdō wasn’t in the Demon's class, the man's reputation was legendary throughout the university. Misaki was used to the bone-chilling terror the professor's name conjured in his soul though, so he recovered first and asked why Tōdō wanted to know.

"They're having a meeting about the Russian Syndrome in one of the science department's lecture theatres, and I was kind of hoping someone would go with me." Tōdō shrugged. "It's not until lunchtime though, so maybe you would be able to?"

"Yeah, sure," said Misaki. The Russian syndrome was the new thing to worry about, and he liked to know all the information he could get about the things he was meant to be worrying about. Plus the results weren’t as gruesome as most pandemics – they were actually quite cute at times. "I didn't know you liked that sort of thing?"

The law student thumbed through a few pages of The*Kan and trailed a finger down the inside of the book's spine. "I don't normally, but this seems like a big thing, you know? I like to be informed about stuff like this, just in case." He paused and then added, "And I think one of my lecturers is going to use it as a discussion point next time we have class with her." He rolled his eyes and sunk down until his chin was level with the table top. "She's on my case to participate more in the class discussions, so I want some good ammo next time."

They agreed to meet outside Misaki's literature classroom and parted ways; Misaki trotted to his lecture hall quickly, even though he was fifteen minutes early, it never paid to be complacent with the Demon Kamijou.

* * *

His lecture was on the finer points of Charles Dickens and ran over by nearly half an hour. He had just had enough time to sprint across the campus and struggle through a steady stream of students heading into the science buildings in order to find Tōdō. His friend was waiting patiently even though he was late, and grinned brightly when Misaki skidded to a stop next to him.

"Do you want to get your breath back, or do you want to get seats?"

Despite the fact Misaki was completely out of breath, and his shoulder bag had nearly throttled him as he ran, he said, "Seats." They joined the crowd filtering into the science building.

Misaki had never been in here before, and he was kind of impressed. The literature building was a bit ratty and smelled heavily of dust and old books, while the economics rooms were tucked at the end of the maths departments and were constantly enveloped in clouds of chalk powder, even though they’d been using whiteboards and projection screens for the better part of a decade now. In comparison, the foyer to the science building was open and airy and full of white tiles and expensive looking screens. They headed up a set of stairs with a view across campus from the tall plate glass wall, and entered the swankiest looking lecture theatre Misaki had ever seen.

He chose a row halfway up and sidled along until he reached an arbitrary point. He sat down and discovered that the myriad of pink and purple seats might look comfortable and ergonomic, but they were mostly ergonomic at the cost of comfort instead. He tucked his bag under his seat as Tōdō pulled a notebook out and tried to wrangle the little tray attached to the seat arm into a half-decent position.

"It's good to see the bio students getting the same shit set-up as we do," said a student in the line in front of them. "I'm sure these seats aren’t set up for human spines.” She shifted uncomfortably and glanced back to smile at Tōdō as he turned the table the wrong way and tipped all of his belongings onto the floor. "Pull it up and towards you," she advised, fluttering dark eyelashes and leaning down to pluck his pen from below her chair. Tōdō smiled back and did as he was told – the table swung into a slightly less awkward place, while Misaki watched in amazement that his friend had managed to attract a pretty girl just by being a klutz. When Misaki was clumsy only Usagi-san found it endearing.

More people filtered into the theatre – filling the couple hundred seats easily, and a few settling on the stairs. Misaki looked around but didn’t recognise anyone, not even the lecturer, who strode across the floor, took one look at the microphone and scoffed. When he spoke it was like listening to thunder, and he stood in the middle of the floor, glaring at them all from under impressive eyebrows.

"So!" he barked. "This is the lecture on the Russian Syndrome. I see some faces I don't recognise, so the rules to my lectures are as follows – no interrupting, talking or toilet breaks, all question at the end, if you break the rules, I verbally eviscerate you."

"I love Professor Hideki," whispered the girl into front of them, leaning forward on her little table. "Too few people use the word 'eviscerate' anymore."

Thankfully the professor didn’t notice the immediate breaking of his rules and crossed to the little podium at one side of the stage. A presentation popped onto the screen and the man snatched up a controller.

"Let's get this over with," he grumbled, and the lights flickered off.

"The Russian Syndrome, or re-aging syndrome, or whatever else it's been dubbed by the idiots in the media, appeared in Vladivostock four months ago. Initially authorities thought it was absolute nonsense, but by the time they had forty sufferers – one of whom was a senior doctor – they began to sit up and take notice.

"By this point, though, it was appearing across Russia, in Eastern Europe and a few cases had been spotted in Alaska. China was mostly unaffected, as still is for the most part, but I'll deal with that later. Happily, a few of the sufferers were already beginning to recover, so it was fairly obvious that while this is a virulently contagious disease, it is not necessarily fatal." He grunted and flicked onto another slide, showing a pair of pictures of a girl, dancing in a garden, and then a young woman, bending down beside a dog. "The effects are frankly astonishing, even to an old sod like myself. This is Mrs. H, a half-Russian woman living in Tokyo who arrived at my clinic with Russian syndrome. To the left is a picture of her when she was 5, to the right is her 3 months ago."

Another slide. The 5 year old girl was perched on the edge of a hospital bed looking pale and scared, a Japanese man holding her hand tightly and looking utterly baffled.

"This is what she appeared at my clinic looking like. The Russian syndrome is not known as the de-aging syndrome for nothing." Despite his earlier threats, the professor looked pleased at the murmurs that run around the room. "There are no mental differences, no other changes, aside from this major physical reversion. We estimated that she had lost twenty years or so of age physically, but she remained fully in control of all her memories from the past thirty-six years and acted the same as she had done the day before when she 'de-aged', as it were.

"As far as other symptoms go… Patients often report headaches and an anxious, twitchy feeling for a couple of weeks before the change occurs. Some say they have decreased appetites and nausea as well, but those are less common. The patient remains at their decreased age for a couple weeks normally, and then appears to revert without any physical trauma. There have been some reports of more than one strain developing, which attacks the brain, but there isn't enough information on that yet for anyone to be sure. Keep an eye out for news on it."

The next slide was full of complex looking pictures and diagrams and words Misaki couldn’t even begin to understand. Beside him Tōdō scribbled like a mad thing, but Misaki couldn’t bring himself to pay attention and starts to plan his meals for the rest of the week. Still, he managed to pick up bits and pieces, such as the syndrome was caused by a virus, which had been isolated and probed mercilessly in some American laboratory, and that people with European descent were most at risk and that the ethical issues involved were myriad. He actually heard Tōdō perk up when that slide appears, and tries to focus so he could maybe help the man, but the lawyer talk melts his brain.

All around, the other students were typing and scribbling notes with much the same fervour as Tōdō. As the professor turned to them for questions, Misaki slunk down in his seat and tried to not to look too unintelligent.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

Most of the crowd sweeping out of the lecture theatre were clearly medical or science students, engaged in complex discussions about the exact mechanics of the virus and its effects. Misaki listened in for a minute or two, until the sheer level of jargon swept him off his feet and left him wishing he owned a medical dictionary. 

Beside him Tōdō looked slightly less confused – he had even taken notes, in such a crabbed, hurried hand the lines extend diagonally across the page. He was looking through his multitude of messy pages as they walked, frowning as he encountered places he couldn’t quite read his own writing. 

“Did that help?” asked Misaki, as they nipped into a side corridor and took the long route around to the back doors so they could avoid the worst of the crowds. 

He nodded. “It was useful, yeah. All the science was a bit beyond me though. What the hell are secondary sexual characteristics?”

Misaki knew, thanks to an evening a while back spent reading a science textbook that had appeared in the penthouse for research purposes. Unfortunately Usagi-san had spotted him reading that chapter and had decided to implement a practical on what he had just learnt. So now, he blushed and stuttered something about not being sure instead. 

“Aww, man…” Tōdō uncovered a pages which was just a mess of black ink, where all the lines of writing have crossed and blurred into a entanglement of lines and curves. Misaki reckoned the inside of Usagi-san’s brain looks a little like that page at times. “That was the page with all the ethical information on… Sorry, Misaki, but I’m going to have to hit the library and copy this out.”

“It’s all right!” He shooed Tōdō away. “I’m going to meet with Sumi-senpai anyway.”

“Sure thing!” Tōdō folded his pages away carefully and waved goodbye as he started towards the library. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Bye!” Misaki gave him a wave and then wandered off with less haste. He did promise to meet with Sumi, but not for another couple of hours. Firstly he thought about attempting some of the literature essays he’d been saddled with, but then remembered that they were English literature essays and if he was to get even a half decent grade he would have to enlist Usagi-san’s translating abilities at the very least. Secondly he thought about doing some of his economics work, which he doesn’t need Usagi-san for, and would fill up a good hour of waiting time. 

He crossed the campus to their picnic table, and settled into calculating interest rates and inflation and economic growth. Halfway through his set of questions, while he was pondering a particularly confusing interest problem and half wondering what Akihiko would do to solve it, his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“Hello?”

It was Sumi-senpai, on what sounds to be a dreadful phone line – it made him sound all squeaky and weird. “Oh good, I was afraid you’d be in class.”

“Nope, just came out of a lecture.” He caught himself drawing a silly little rabbit on the corner of his notebook and hastily scribbled it out, scratching a hole straight through the page. 

“Just missed getting you in trouble, eh?” Sumi giggled, actually properly giggled. Misaki removed his phone from his ear to check he hadn’t pressed any buttons that might make the sound on this call sound so weird, and then replaced it in time to hear, “-not be able to make it.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I might not be able to make it today,” said Sumi, sounding aggrieved. “I’m a bit… under the weather. I haven’t been able to make it to work this week at all.”

“Oh no! Are you ok? Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m fine. My parents are fussing over me as much as humanly possible. So, can we reschedule for another time?”

“Of course!”

They bartered out another time a couple weeks from now – Sumi claimed that he’d be swamped at work when he made it back and he didn’t want to make it any worse – and then descended into some vague chat. Misaki pinned his phone to his ear with his shoulder and gathered up his belongings to shove them back in his bag. 

Sumi continued to talk with him on his walk back to the train station, until Misaki spotted a display of Usagi-san’s novels in the window of a bookstore and fell awkwardly silent as he read the titles. He knew them all by heart, because they were practically the only books in the penthouse that ever needed dusting – Akihiko never touched them once they were written, and Misaki couldn’t even open the first page without getting terribly nervous that somehow his unfit mind would ruin the majesty of Usagi-san’s written words. 

“Misaki? Are you still there?”

“Huh? Oh sorry!” He laughed. “The Bamboo Bookshop has all of Usagi-san’s novels up. He’s written a lot!”

“I know,” said Sumi in a calm, unreadable tone. “How is Usami-san anyway? Are you doing well?”

Misaki hesitated and said, “Yes?” 

“You don’t sound sure,” said Sumi, developing a nasty tone of interest. “Is he annoying you? Do you want rid of him? I could –“

“We’re fine!” blurted Misaki, setting a hand on the shop window and pressing until his fingertips turn white. Why did Sumi always have to do this? Misaki liked him and all, but the creepy stalker shit really freaked him out. “Listen, I’m at the station, so I’ll have to go. Talk to you soon!”

He pressed the end call button hard and snapped the phone shut immediately after.

* * *

Usagi-san was lounging artistically on the sofa, reading a heavy history novel with a scary intensity. He looked up sharply when Misaki came in, and then smiled brightly. Misaki greeted him, and then went to hide in the kitchen, where he was normally safer from rabbit attacks. 

Of course, when Usagi-san got it in his head he wanted to ‘re-charge’ with Misaki, there was never any stopping him. Misaki took a careful look at the man over his shoulder, and decided that he probably didn’t need to recharge on anything with the way he was fidgeting. Akihiko was normally quite a still person, every move clearly chosen and considered carefully, like he was some sort of reptile that needed to conserve its energy, but today he was flicking the pages of the book he was reading compulsively with a thumbnail, one foot jiggling rhythmically. There was still that intense focus in his eyes, so Misaki chose not to interrupt him and poured himself a lemonade from the fridge. He’d had to stock up on the cold drinks lately, because Akihiko had both discovered a taste for them and seemed to be running a constant fever, which was a bit of a pisser in this pleasant spring warmth. 

Wondering if the man had been sickening for something, Misaki picked through the mail he had collected on his way up. Mostly fliers and nonsense of course, with a few official looking envelopes for Usami Akihiko, and one of the many pamphlets on the Russian Syndrome. They’d been getting at least one a day, so Misaki bundled it into a papery ball with the other useless bumf and chucked it into the recycling. 

By this time, he reckoned Usagi-san had probably forgotten he was here, so he decided to chance crossing to the stairs, so he could change and maybe do some cleaning. He got to within three feet of the stairs, when big arms draped over his shoulders and lock in place over his chest. 

“Are you just going to ignore me?” asked Akihiko, nosing behind Misaki’s ear in a proprietary manner. 

“I was hoping to…” grumbled Misaki, clutching his lemonade tighter. “Careful! You’ll make me spill it!”

“And where would we be if you did that..?” A long finger twitched out, and pressed against the rim of the glass. Misaki squawked angrily and then yelped in shock when the man bit down on the shell of his ear. Immediately, his grip on the glass failed and he ended up drenched and sticky. “Oh dear…”

Misaki just resisted the urge to throw the glass at the bastard and turned to give him a good telling off, except that before he got any of the words out, he was being kissed hard and pulled tight to the man’s body. He felt his knees weaken and his heart set up a steady pounding in his chest, sending throbbing sparks to all corners of his body. It still didn’t distract him from the fact his shirt and jeans were now damp with lemonade though. 

“Usagi-san…” he groaned, intending to sound much more pissed off than he actually manages, “Please… my clothes…”

With a happy leer, Usagi-san had hands under Misaki’s shirt, separating the damp, clammy fabric from his skin, hands spanning his chest and running down his flanks. This time his knees did go properly, as long fingers brush teasingly over his nipples, and Usagi-san had him sprawling on the sofa in moments. Misaki’s neck was next to decide it didn’t fancy working correctly, and his head fell back against the sofa cushions as the man knelt between his spread thighs and set about him with devilish glee. 

Akihiko’s soft lips pressed to Misaki’s cheek, and then he trailed down to nibble along the younger man’s jawline, teasing the skin gently, until Misaki was trembling and whimpering softly. How the older man got him going so quickly with such a light touch was beyond him. 

“I love you,” purred Usagi-san, his voice so deep it rumbled through Misaki’s frame and made him shudder convulsively. Usagi-san’s teeth closed lightly on an earlobe, as long elegant fingers worked under Misaki’s shirt and stroke up and down his flanks. 

“Nh!” A thumb flicked over one of Misaki’s nipples and he jerked into the touch helplessly. “Usagi-s-s-san!” 

While he’d been distracted by those devilish fingers teasing him wickedly, the other hand had slid down to unbutton his flies and free his cock. 

Usagi-san gave Misaki a few firm strokes, chuckling when the boy moaned weakly and tried to thrust up into the older man’s grip. 

“Tell me what you want?” He didn’t wait for Misaki to answer, and trailed his mouth down from Misaki’s jaw to suck at the pulse point.

Misaki didn’t answer; he couldn’t answer. All the words were trapped in his throat, just below where Akihiko’s tongue was soothing a fresh bite-mark. The fingers that had been teasing his nipples had spread across the whole of Misaki’s chest, pinning him in place against the back of the sofa. 

Akihiko’s silvery head bowed downwards and Misaki bleated in delighted shock as warm air purred over his cock, followed by the slow stroke of a wet tongue. Akihiko was amazing at sucking cock, and Misaki threw his head back and panted as his whole cock was taken into the wet warmth, a hand cupping his balls softly. A talented tongue rolled around the head of his member, and dipped into the slit. 

His hands settled shakily on Akihiko’s shoulders, before the temptation of that thick, shaggy mane won him over and he tangled his fingers in the blond locks, urging the man on. Akihiko chuckled deeply, and the vibrations made Misaki want to scream in pleasure. He could feel his balls starting to tighten already, when Usagi-san pulled back and licked his lips. There was a mischievious light in his eyes and Misaki quailed back at the sight of it. 

“W-what?” he shivered. 

“You’re beautiful,” purred Akihiko, leaning forward to kiss the boy. Misaki nearly cringed back from the taste of himself in the man’s mouth, but the talent of Usagi-san’s tongue won him over in the end. His hand jerked Misaki’s spit-slicked cock firmly and his thumb rubbed firmly over the slit – Misaki cried out into the kiss and shuddered violently. Akihiko swallowed all his moans and then drew back to lick off the sticky mess now covering his hand. Misaki was too shaken and satisfied to complain, he simply sat and panted heavily. He couldn’t even bring himself to complain when Usagi-san unzipped his own flies and pulled out his cock. 

Usagi-san leaned over Misaki as he fisted his own cock, mouthing soft kisses to the student’s throat and jaw still. Misaki could only let his head fall back and his eyes drifted shut as he listened to Akihiko’s soft sighs and groans of pleasure, the heavy rasp of his breath brushing against his skin. When Akihiko lowered his head a touch further to moan raggedly against his lover’s collarbone, Misaki’s shaky hands reached up to steady themselves on broad shoulders. This touch alone made Akihiko moan desperately and come hard into his own hand. 

He half collapsed down on top of Misaki, breathing just as heavily as Misaki had been doing moments earlier, and it seemed fair to let his have his moment. Eventually though, his bulk grew a little heavy for Misaki’s ribcage and he squirmed uncomfortably. 

“Get off me, you pervert,” he muttered half-heartedly, shivering when the relatively cool air of the penthouse gained access to his bared skin without Usagi-san there to shield him from it. The man didn’t move far, just a few satisfied inches down the sofa, wearing a smug smile and cheerfully licking the come from his fingers. “God, you are disgusting! Don’t do that!” He restored himself to almost decency and stood up with a huff, intending to flounce off and failing when his knees buckled in on themselves. 

“Having issues?” asked Akihiko from around a mouthful of his own fingers. Misaki growled and stiffened his knees through sheer force of embarrassment, so he could wobble off in a petulant manner instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, goodness. I haven't written proper publishable smut about these two yet, so this is my first foray into it. Hope it suits you lot!
> 
> Many thanks to Cerberus Revised and their endless talent at pornz, which has inspired me to attempt to write more intelligent sex scenes. They're an utter doll, and you should have read all of their stuff by now, cause it's that awesome.


	3. Chapter 3

Aikawa was almost sane today – she was buzzing about the place like the proverbial fly, but she had time to stop and chat for a few minutes, which was more than normal. Misaki ended up at the desk which had become his, and started on the menial tasks he had been given – stapling and sorting and folding and copying. It was a bit repetitive, but he kind of liked it; his desk was at the perfect place for eavesdropping on the people standing at the water-cooler in the hallway, and he could monitor all the goings on in the office with a slight turn of his head. 

He was in the middle of some data-entry when a crowd of people sidled up to the water-cooler. The machine gurgled and slurped and rattled, and then fell silent so Misaki could hear the group talk. 

“You know the way you said Isaka-sama was getting nicer? You were so wrong.”

“Eh, he’s just been a bit all over the place ‘cause his faithful shadow isn’t with him any longer.”

The first person spoke again. “All over the place? Hardly! He’s a shambles! If we had off-days like that we’d be fired on the spot! Plus I heard he made one of the senior secretaries cry yesterday!”

“Yeah, it was Ikeda-san in the accountancy department, actually. Told her she was useless and that she couldn’t add, let alone calculate complicated interest.”

“Well, she can’t add! I know that woman, and as far as I can tell, the only reason she passed her accountancy course was because she was fucking the professor.”

“Be that as it may!” 

A third voice piped up, “Why’s Asahina-san not with him anymore?”

Silence for a second. 

“They said he was ill,” said the second person, sounding unsure. 

“Probably broke up with the boss.” The first voice again. He sounded disgusted, but seemed happy enough to gossip about it nonetheless. “Everyone’s knows they were fucking.”

Misaki didn’t know until about two seconds ago, and now he was horrified too, but mostly because Isaka-san always seemed so intent on flirting with Usagi-san whenever they met. Surely that wasn’t fair to Asahina-san? Hell, it wasn’t fair to Misaki! Why did he have to deal with that stupid drunken horn-dog trying to steal his Usagi-san?

Also was his gaydar really that bad? Maybe Akihiko would give him lessons; his was certainly overactive. 

“Pity,” said the third person, “I liked Asahina-san. Shows he mustn’t have great taste though.”

“He’s probably just sick,” said the second person. Misaki liked them best. 

“That’s one word for it,” grumbled the first voice, seconds before one of the BL editors across the way screamed, “Not the best place to bitch about that, guys!”

The crowd dispersed immediately. Misaki had to wipe the grin off his face whenever one of the editors dips into his section to hide for a moment. The man looked about and pretended to straighten his tie and coat when he saw Misaki lurking in the corner, but still took a moment to check the corridor is free from rampaging BL editors before he left.

* * *

Misaki was able to giggle about this to himself until some of Aikawa’s fellow literature editors returned from meetings. The one seated nearest to him was Kobayashi-san, a woman of around Aikawa-san’s age, who had a small herd of romance novelists under her iron grip. She spotted Misaki cackling and asked, “What’s so funny, Takahashi-kun?”

“Oh, one of the BL editors got a bit annoyed at the people at the water-cooler again.”

“Damn, I missed it?” Kobayashi-san tossed a stack of papers into her to-do pile and span around on her computer chair. “Bet you it was some of the senior shipping staff, they were in our meeting room before us.” After a quick check of the clock, she fished into her desk and retrieved the most depressing looking bento box from within the depths, then added to Misaki’s culinary horror by fetching a bottle of cheap cola and an ill-looking apple from her bag. She caught Misaki’s look and smiled, “I took your advice and started making my own lunch. I just need a hell of a lot more practice…” She looked at the bento sadly and poked the contents with a curious finger, grimacing when it behaves in a way not expected of food. “Maybe I’ll go to the canteen after all.”

“It might not taste that bad?” suggested Misaki hopefully. 

“I already tasted it this morning,” said the editor glumly, “I was kind of hoping it would mature and improve with age.” She dropped it in the bin without another word. “Do you want anything?”

“No thank you, Kobayashi-san.”

The woman returned fifteen minutes later with a plastic bowl full of salad and a newspaper. She brandished the front page at Misaki – a massive banner headline above a picture of some scared looking teenagers in hospital beds. “You ‘ve seen this already, Takahashi-kun?”

“Is it the Russian Syndrome?” Misaki examined the headline and nodded. “I went to a lecture about it yesterday.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” She sat down to pick at her salad. “I bet you there’s a good story in this. I should flog it to one of my authors… Sato-sensei was looking for a new plot; although, I bet the BL editors would jump on it like piranhas.” She smiled, evilly, and Misaki hid behind his partition, just in case she sent him to pitch it to them. Personally he thought BL editors had some sort of sense for gay men, or other men who happened to live with gay men - who had also happened to have had plenty of sex with said gay men - and wandering in amongst them seemed like a bad idea.

* * *

Thankfully Kobayashi-san got distracted by a tardy author, and Misaki was able to spend the rest of the day working at what he was meant to be doing. She was growling at the poor quivering wreck of a novelist on the phone, when Misaki gathered his belongings and said goodbye to the remaining editors. 

At home, Usagi-san was pacing absently, chewing on the end of a pen and looking irritable. Since Misaki had made him promise to stop smoking, he’d been nicotine free and just that little bit more difficult to be around. It made Misaki wonder how his parents, or more likely the butler, dealt with him before he took up smoking - possibly the only occasion where letting your teenage son smoke was a good idea. Misaki gave him a look, just to warn him it was been a long day of work and that he wasn’t in the mood for any tobacco-deprived antics. Usagi-san had learnt quickly, and gave the student a wide berth to do what he wanted for a bit, but remained twitchy and restless. 

Finally the pacing started to tell on Misaki’s patience. He took a break from preparing dinner and leant over the kitchen counter to watch as the man trailed from one end of the bay windows to the other, and repeated the action again and again and again. It made him look like some sort of big cat, patrolling anxiously inside its enclosure and unable to burn off all its energy. When the man looked up and met Misaki’s gaze, there was that same tired wildness in his eyes. Without looking away, Misaki reached out to the side, picked up the green pepper he was going to add to the rice tonight and threw it to the counter beside the fridge instead. It didn’t seem fair to torment a man who was clearly not feeling the best. 

“I still think you should go to the doctor’s,” he said, returning to the chopping boards. Usagi-san gave a little sigh and traipsed over. He didn’t look ill – because Usami Akihiko did nothing in half-measures, not even looking unwell – just fidgety. 

“I don’t need to,” he grumbled, rattling his nails on the countertop until Misaki rapped him on the knuckles with a spoon. “I just need more exercise or something.”

“You have never exercised in your life,” Misaki opined. “You are the laziest person I know.” And the most attractive by far, but Misaki wasn’t entirely sure how those two correlated. 

Akihiko grumbled again and wandered off to the sofa.

* * *

They ate dinner with quiet conversation about work and lazing about the house, although Akihiko didn’t look particularly enthralled with his meal and picked at it after the bulk of his appetite is sated. Misaki ignored this magnanimously. 

Afterwards they settled on the sofa, Misaki to watch a comedy show he’d been meaning to catch for a while, and Akihiko to plaster himself to Misaki’s side and generally be a nuisance. Eventually, he gave up and flopped across Misaki’s lap like a stranded fish, tucking his face against the younger man’s stomach; even through his t-shirt, Misaki could feel the heat radiating off his lover’s forehead. 

“Maybe I will go to the doctor’s.” Usagi-san tucked himself up tighter to Misaki and gave a pathetic little shiver, coaxing one of Misaki’s hands onto his shoulder. The young man took the hint and set to petting Akihiko’s silky soft hair. As his show tapered to an end, he became aware that Usagi-san had fallen asleep on his lap, breathing in a noseful of Misaki’s shirt with each deep inhalation. He was still too warm, and still shivering slightly, but Misaki approved of sleep as an excellent cure-all and flicked through the channels to see if there was anything else he could watch and avoid disturbing his lover. 

In the end, he settled on some sitcom, and turned the volume all the way down so the raucous laugh track wouldn’t wake Akihiko up. 

By the time the sitcom wobbled to a less-than-hilarious ending, and Misaki checked the time, it was nearly midnight, and there were things to do and places to be the next morning. If he could have, Misaki would have slipped away without disturbing the man asleep on his lap, but Akihiko had positioned himself just so and deployed his amazing limpet skills to prevent any escape. 

Akihiko woke up grudgingly, looking even more stressed than he had when he had fallen asleep. Before the man could fall asleep on his lap again, Misaki flitted to the bathroom and then the bedroom so he could get into bed and tucked himself up with Suzuki-san.

* * *

He got a grand total of three steps into their bedroom before the door clicked shut in a slightly menacing fashion, and he realised he should have checked just where Usagi-san was before he considered himself home and dry. 

Suzuki-san had already been relegated to a mournful upside position against a chest of drawers, and Misaki squawked in muted irritation when he was picked up bodily and dropped onto the sheets. Usagi-san hopped onto the bed himself and shoved Misaki flat on his back. 

“I thought you were feeling ill!” Misaki barked, shivering as talented hands trailed up his flanks and exposed his stomach to the cool gloom of the bedroom air. 

“Oh, I was. But even just the sight of my Misaki makes me feel much better.” Akihiko kissed him hard before he could complain again, possessing his lover’s mouth fully and swallowing any doubts Misaki might have had about this being a good idea. Misaki’s head was already swimming with the taste of Akihiko when the man bit on his lower lip softly and pulled back. “What do you want, Misaki?” he purred, looking smug when Misaki opened and closed his mouth helplessly. 

He knew what he wanted – a hand, or preferably a mouth, on his cock and one of the earth-shattering orgasms that Usagi-san dealt out to him on a regular basis. In fact, right now, with Akihiko’s naturally smoky taste still on his tongue, and the sight of the man removing his own shirt and displaying that body, Misaki would be almost inclined to ask for a good old-fashioned fucking. Unfortunately he had his pride to think of as well as his libido, and bleated something that isn’t even words. 

Akihiko knew what he meant anyway and pounced. 

His fingers slipped down Misaki’s trousers, twanging the elastic waistband of his boxers, and leaning forward to hover millimetres from Misaki’s lips. 

“You haven’t told me what you want yet,” he chuckled. 

Misaki keened and simultaneously tried to lean forward and backward at the same time; this brought him just close enough to press his lips to Akihiko’s, and that got him shoved back down to the sheets. 

“You are unbelievable…” Akihiko purred deeply. With that he bowed his head and bit Misaki’s throat, nosing along the pulse point, sucking bruises up on the sensitive skin over his collarbones. Misaki squirmed and whimpered and arched his back up so his chest encountered the powerful warmth of Akihiko’s skin. “Eager tonight, aren’t we?”

“Stop… talking!” Misaki jerked violently as Akihiko’s tongue lathed one of his nipples. “Ah!”

Akihiko chuckled again and undid Misaki’s flies without moving away from his torture of his lover’s nipples, and the overly warm palm of his hand pressed against the bulge in the soft cotton. It was not the same as when his hands were freezing cold and the cool touch of flesh against Misaki’s heated flesh made goose bumps prickle all over his body, but he couldn’t complain as it was. His cock was already throbbing uncomfortably, needing the touch of skin on skin, and Akihiko obliged, reaching into his boxers and giving him a firm stroke. Misaki moaned and found his hands had traitorously moved onto Akihiko’s broad shoulders and were attempting to push him slightly further south. 

He never wanted to think about why Akihiko was so goddamn good at sucking cock, but thankfully the only time it ever really occurred to him was when that hot, moist mouth was bobbing up and down his dick and he wasn’t available to think about anything but the silky warmth of the man’s lips and the broad wetness of his tongue. Long fingers slipped up to slide into Misaki’s mouth and he sucked on them greedily, lapping at them clumsily in comparison to the considered moments of Akihiko’s mouth. When the man glanced up, blue irises swallowed by his pupils beneath blond eyelashes, Misaki gave a tiny cry as the pleasure coiling in stomach shot down and he came hard. Akihiko swallowed sharply and then let the cock slip out of his mouth with an obscenely wet noise, withdrawing his fingers from the younger man’s lips as well. 

Misaki stared at him with heavy lidded eyes as Akihiko added his own saliva to his dripping fingers and teased the brunette’s half-hard cock; he moaned at the sensation – slippy tickling on over sensitised skin – and bucked his hips up. Akihiko chuckled as his fingers drift lower – Misaki groaned helplessly as the pad of a finger pressed lightly to his opening. Even after all these years, Misaki couldn’t get used to this sensation, and squeaked quietly as he was slowly penetrated. When the finger pressed over that spot inside him, and Akihiko’s mouth descended without warning to mouth his sac, the brunette came hard, shooting his completion across his own heaving belly. 

Akihiko didn’t let a thing like an orgasm stop him, and Misaki was whining in torment moments later, still shaking with the aftershocks as well as the added pressure of another finger pulsing in and out of his hole. 

“Usagi-san..!” He raised his hand to muffle his moans and to attempt to hide his embarrassment. 

“Yes?” Akihiko purred, his movements stilling entirely. This was not what Misaki wanted at all; only his body was able to admit it, and his hips jerked and bucked helplessly to get some friction going again. When his body pushed back against the intrusion, Akihiko added a third finger and Misaki moaned again, even around his hand. “Ah, you like that?”

“No..!” he whined, grimacing slightly at the burn for the few second that the pain was actually painful and then whining again when the friction became pleasurable. “Ahhh!”

Akihiko’s delight was visible in his shockingly amethyst eyes; Misaki only glanced down for only a second and then was well and truly hypnotised by the colour and the intensity of the stare. He couldn’t even move when the fingers slid out of his body and cool lube was drizzled down over his balls, rolling down and gathering in the pucker there. Akihiko knelt up and leant over Misaki’s body, casting his muscles in dramatic shadow as he gathered Misaki’s thighs up to wrap around his waist. The urge to have Akihiko inside of him was so strong that Misaki locked his ankles together and pulled the man’s hips forward. The pain of penetration made Misaki’s rekindled erection fade slightly, but then Akihiko’s hand closed over his cock and slicked the pre-come up and down his shaft as he pushed in. Misaki grunted in appreciation and then moaned once more as the thickness inside of him rubbed against his prostate and all his nerves went mad. 

Akihiko half-draped himself over Misaki, pressing their mouths together messily as he snapped his hips forward and shuddered. Their teeth clicked together as Misaki slung his arms around the bigger man’s neck and held him in place. He’d never admit how much he loved being held and covered and protected by his lover while they fucked. It made his stomach flutter, and that added to the sensation reaching a slow boil in his lower abdomen, threatening to spark a powder trail down his spine. Sweat dripped from Akihiko’s heaving flanks onto Misaki’s trembling chest, ran from the blond’s sharp jaw line to Misaki’s softer chin, gave their kisses a salty tinge. His lover was shaking already, beautiful body pressing harder into Misaki’s, one hand still occupied with Misaki’s cock. 

“Misaki,” groaned Akihiko, his voice cracking deliciously. “God, Misaki, I love you…” 

The words, the tone, the feel of the man’s voice made Misaki’s chest throb. All the sensations build and build, until he threw his head back against the pillow and came with a strangled shout. Distantly, as his body shuddered and clenched, he felt Akihiko’s teeth fastened onto his collarbone and that familiar warm pulsing deep inside him, driving a few more spasms out of him as well. 

His shivering took a long time to die away, and it took him a longer while still to realise that Akihiko was still atop, and within, him. The man’s panting breaths were husky, rasping contentedly in his ear, and Misaki relaxed back to listen for a few moments. It was another thing he would never admit to liking. 

Eventually, and unfortunately, Akihiko’s lithe bulk became too heavy and far, far too warm. A well-placed set of sharp finger-tips to Akihiko’s ribs and the man rolled off with a low moan. Misaki shuddered at the sudden emptiness, but lying in Akihiko’s arms soothed the hollowness immeasurably. Especially when Usagi-san leant down and nuzzled into the brunette’s hair, purring contentedly about how much he loved Misaki. 

“You’re perfect,” sighed Usagi-san, pressing a kiss to his lover’s forehead. “I love you.”

Misaki blinked back his tears – stupid post-orgasm emotions got him teary-eyed every fucking time – and tucked his face into Akihiko’s throat. He still couldn’t say it, but he mouthed it to the ivory column of the man’s neck. He couldn’t tell if Akihiko could feel his movements, but he knew the man had to be able to feel the sentiments somehow.

* * *

They shared the shower, because Misaki had work the next morning and Usagi-san’s ability to fall asleep while sticky and still reeking of sex was unparalleled. Misaki even permitted the author to shampoo his hair for him, and was bizarrely disappointed when this led to nothing more raunchy than a kiss and then a hip-bump out of the way so Akihiko could rinse his own locks out. 

Misaki sulked in the warm mist and did some ogling – Usagi-san was so rarely naked in front of him, except when Misaki was otherwise distracted, and so it was always nice to see all the muscles and pale, smooth skin on display, especially when they were so nicely dampened by the shower. His fingers itched with the need to reach out and have a sneaky grope of that lovely toned ass, but he settled for soaping himself down instead. This turned out to be a pitiful substitute. 

After drying off – Misaki had to blowdry Akihiko’s hair, because the man disliked having his hair towel dried too often, something about delicate, thin, blond hair that couldn’t take being tousled too much – they settle into bed, on their separate sides, and say goodnight quietly. 

Misaki went to sleep feeling a bit uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noes! What will happen next? Will it be nothing, or will it be something properly relevant to the plot? Who can tell? (Aside from me, because I've already written it, obviously.)
> 
> Until next time, my pretties!


	4. Chapter 4

Misaki woke up quite chilly for once, and without the heavy lump that was Usagi-san curled up against him. He wondered if the man had been struck by inspiration in the middle of the night – it was uncommon but it had happened – and sat up blearily to look at the time. Almost time to get up. Joy. 

When he looked around, the sheets were bunched up over a small hillock that was undoubtedly Usagi-san. It was odd that he wasn’t clinging to Misaki, but the chance to have an uninterrupted sleep wasn’t to be sniffed at. He was about to lie back down for another ten minutes of dozing when the hillock shifted slightly and a tuft of silvery blond hair emerged from the sheets. 

“What time is it?” the man croaked, his voice sounding quite squeaky, not the normal deep rumble. Another sign that he was sick perhaps? 

“Ten to seven,” said Misaki. 

Usagi-san swore quietly in English – “Bollocks…” – and sat up gingerly. “I feel dreadful,” he said rubbing his forehead gingerly. 

Misaki could only stare. 

“What?” Akihiko gave him a baffled look, and then winced again. “Do I look that bad?”

“Ummm…” It was a hard thing to explain, so Misaki decided not to try. Instead he got out of bed and stumbled over to the light switch, so he could get a better look himself. To his great disappointment, Usagi-san’s condition was not a trick of the gloom. “I…” 

Akihiko swung his legs over the side of the bed, tried to stand up and promptly fell flat on his face. While he was picking himself off the carpet in a truly confused manner, Misaki was panicking inside, heart fluttering like a trapped bird in his ribcage. How the fuck had this happened? Why the hell was it happening to them? 

“What is going on?” mumbled Akihiko, finally regaining his feet and looking down at himself. The floor didn’t seem to be quite the same distance away as it normally was, and his pyjama bottoms were just clinging onto his hips in a very tenuous fashion, pooling around his feet at the bottom. He crossed to the mirror on his wardrobe and had a look at himself. 

“Oh!” His reflection wasn’t his at all; rather it had been his, when he had been a teenager and not a thirty two year old man. He had actually shrunk a good foot and a bit, his shoulders had narrowed and his limbs had that annoying coltish thinness to them again. His features had softened dramatically, so now he had that delicate, big blue eyed prettiness that used to get him into endless trouble. Even his hair had grown out into the longer style he used to maintain. No wonder Misaki was still speechless. 

Even as he stood there, staring at the new un-improved him, his pyjamas started to lose the fight against gravity and slipped down over one prominent hipbone. He tugged them up and tightened the waist as much as he can before his knees started to lose the battle themselves and he ended up on the floor for the second time in five minutes. 

“Usagi-san!” This spurred Misaki into movement, and the younger man – although it was possible this descriptor wasn’t quite true anymore – sprung to Akihiko’s side. He didn’t touch him, but hovered nervously instead, as if waiting for the man to collapse completely. Akihiko knows he was made of much sterner stuff than that, but the idea that he had regressed to this fucking irritating age, which he had detested when he was living it the first time, appeared to have relieved him of any superior muscle function in his limbs. 

It took him a long while to regain his senses and manage to haul himself up again, bracing his palms against the mirror and staring into his own eyes. “Fuck,” he said shortly. 

“Maybe we should…” Misaki stuttered and stumbled and finally fell silent again. Akihiko glanced back in the mirror and met the younger man’s eyes; the normally vibrant green was dulled to a shocked mossy shade, wide open and pupils blown. “Maybe…”

One of them was going to have to steel their spine and try to deal with this head on. Akihiko really didn’t want it to have to be him – he was really not feeling up to anything but huddling in a corner until this fixed itself. Instead, he said, “Let’s go downstairs.” 

He grabbed one of his shirts and slung it on hurriedly before he followed Misaki down into the main room of the penthouse. The arms draped any number of inches past his fingertips, the neck nearly caught on the edge of one of his shoulders, and the hem was halfway down his thighs. He caught sight of himself in the glass of the balcony windows – it was like some poor waif had wandered into his home and stolen his clothing. 

Misaki half-collapsed on the sofa and turned the television on as if on auto-pilot. Akihiko padded to the coffee machine and pressed the on button so hard the plastic cracked under his fingertip. As the machine started to burble happily, he forced himself to take a few deep breaths and then turn around. The news was playing on the television and it was another clip about that bloody syndrome; the very same one that had stuck him in this gangly, useless body again. Akihiko resisted the urge to rip his hair out and eased into the seat beside Misaki. 

“I’ll call the doctor,” he said, grimacing as he realised that his voice had correspondingly changed with his appearance. Why couldn’t he have been 17 or so, when his voice had deepened impressively? 

This was all so tremendously embarrassing; it was an excellent thing indeed that Akihiko’s ability to be embarrassed was well-strapped down.

* * *

Akihiko had no clothes that would fit him anymore. He stared mournfully at the contents of his wardrobe and then turned hopefully to Misaki, who was already dressed. 

Misaki blinked once, and then giggled nervously. “You look really silly in that shirt, Usagi-san.”

Akihiko plucked at the neckline of his shirt, where it had fallen forward and displayed his protruding collarbones. “Are you going to laugh at me or are you going to help?” he asked, without malice. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but when Misaki fumbled through his cupboards and produced a few handfuls of clothes, his heart dropped slightly. 

Chino trousers and a fleecy hoodie… Misaki shoved a poloshirt at him and fluttered in between staring curiously and looking away in embarrassment as Akihiko pulls off his shirt and pulls on the proffered top. 

“How is this too big for me as well?” he asked, acutely aware that he’s bleating rather than talking. 

There was a snort, and then Misaki burst into hysterical laughter. Akihiko scowled and grabbed the trousers, releasing the cords around the waist of his pyjama bottoms; they dropped to his feet and he kicked them off. Thankfully his boxers clung on determinedly, and he almost decided he would continue to wear them until a small lump of fabric hit him in the face, and Misaki almost sobbed with laughter. 

He plucked the cloth off his head and groaned. “You are unkind to me!” It was a pair of Misaki’s underwear, one of the embarrassing pairs that Usagi-san had previously delighted in buying the boy. They had bears on and everything. 

“You deserve it!” Misaki crossed his arms defiantly, shoulders still shaking as he struggled to contain his mirth. Akihiko scowled even more and exchanged his underwear for the bear briefs. Misaki took one look at him and blushed bright red. “Ummm…”

The briefs were quite snug and highly embarrassing. Akihiko’s well trained blush reflex attempted to escape and light up his cheeks as well, but he slammed it back down and smiles his best smug grin instead. “Do you like what you see?” he purred, reaching up to ruffle his hair. 

“I’m going downstairs!” Misaki blurted, and ran for the door. Akihiko would normally trail after him and invite the boy to prove that he didn’t like what he saw, but today he didn’t think he’d get very far. Instead he checked himself out in the mirror and grimaced at what he saw. 

The boy in the mirror was spindly and coltish, pale to the point of translucency, with a untamed mop of silvery blonde hair. He had a slightly feminine softness to his pretty face, not helped by his big, lavender blue eyes. Misaki’s polo shirt was too big, and billows around his ribcage and stomach like a cape; at the best, it covered the most of the bear underwear, and at the worst, it made him look even younger. Frowning, he reached out and grabbed the trousers. They were a pair of Misaki’s favoured three-quarter lengths, at the very least they fitted height-wise . He still had to belt them tightly to prevent them dropping down over his hipbones. 

And he was going to have to go out in public like this as well…

* * *

Misaki seemed to descend into hysteria fairly quickly as Akihiko came down the stairs. He reminded himself that this was as much a shock to Misaki’s system as to his own, and told himself to be nice. 

He was never very good at nice, but he manages a chilly politeness that causes Misaki to sober quickly. The boy was wiping tears from his eyes when Akihiko found his car keys where he had abandoned them in a coat pocket. 

“Oh no!” Misaki stood up in alarm and ran over. “You’re not driving!”

“Why not?” He was utterly baffled. “I’m still me. I’m still thirty-two years old and I’ve had my license for over a decade.”

“Have you seen yourself?!” Misaki gestured up and down – it took him a considerably smaller gesture that it would normally do. “You’re smaller than me! No way are the police going to believe you can drive legally! You want to get to the doctor’s, not the police station!”

“But-“

“No!” Misaki snatched the car keys and held them just out of reach. Akihiko strained for them helplessly for a moment before he realised he was not going to win. “We’re getting the train and then walking.”

The train? Akihiko was almost tempted to lunge for the keys again, but then he decided that maybe it would be an education. Most people took the train every day, after all, but he had never done it himself. When he had been this age, there’d been a limo at his beck and call at all times, and when he’d been grown up, he’d been too busy to try. And he had had his own car. If Misaki was willing to show him, then he was going to take the opportunity while he could. 

“I’ll need a pair of shoes,” he said, wiggling his toes against the cool wood floor. “Mine are too big now.”

Misaki suppressed his giggles and went to fetch some appropriate footwear.

* * *

The first moment Misaki had seen the boy sitting in the same bed with him, his heart had simultaneously sunk and leapt. It was clear that the Russian Syndrome had found another victim, but his brain had refused to accept this as an answer and had plunged into a spiral of nonsense that had left him silent and shocked. 

But the prettiness on display had been absolutely fantastic. In the pictures, Usagi-san had always been painfully lovely to look at, but in the flesh was infinitely better. Especially when the man got up and had to tighten his pyjama bottoms to the furthest extent to prevent them from sliding down his legs. 

For the next half-hour, Misaki’s mood had flickered in between hysteria and sullen rejection of the situation. Thankfully, Usagi-san seemed to be taking it a bit better – but then the man did have a talent for ignoring what he wanted to ignore and carrying on regardless. 

It took Misaki a long time to fully come back to his senses, and try to figure out a plan. He’d need to accompany Akihiko to the doctor’s clinic, and he’d need to call in a day off at work. By the end of the day, he would have to call his brother as well, just in case he was infected… He took a deep breath as Akihiko loosened the laces on a pair of Misaki’s trainers so he could fit his oddly large feet into them – it was like the man was some sort of puppy, with oversized paws it had to grow into. 

Now that he had convinced the man that driving to the doctor was a Bad Idea, and that a train was their best option – he could only imagine the trouble he’d get into with a taxi driver, trying to transport a pretty blond boy about Tokyo when he should technically be in school – he now had to remind the man to actually call the doctor. Usagi-san muttered in realisation and went to poke hopefully at the phone – Misaki brought him a cup of coffee halfway through the suddenly lengthy process of dialling in the hope it would spur him on a bit. Just to make sure the man wasn’t going to taper off into staring at the wall, he watched him carefully for a moment before going to fetch his own phone to call Aikawa. 

“I won’t be coming in today,” he said, when she picked up sounding sleepy and slightly aggravated. “Usagi-san is… ill. He needs to go to the doctor’s.”

“He better not be trying to get out of his deadline!”

Misaki raised his hands instinctively in a peace gesture at her tone, even though she wasn’t there to see it. “No, no! He’s really sick, I promise! I’ll make him call you later and explain, all right?”

“That’s fine, Misaki-kun! I trust you!” Aikawa-san hung up and Misaki snapped his phone closed to find Akihiko grimacing as his selection of coats on the rack. It was clear that not a single one of them would fit now, and Misaki offered his thickest jacket as an alternative. On the man, it hung like a warm wool curtain, and the ever-present hysteria burbled up into Misaki’s throat again, especially when Akihiko scowled at him. The scowl was adorable, there was no other word, and Misaki’s increasingly giggly reaction turned it into an even more adorable pout, as Akihiko struggled to wrench the coat off and got trapped in the heavy sleeves.

Misaki wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, took another look at Akihiko’s sulky face and burst into guffaws a comedian would die to hear. Akihiko rolled his eyes and finally succeeded in getting the coat off his arms. 

The heavy wool smacked Misaki in the face and caused him to drop the lighter coat he was planning to wear; Akihiko stole the jacket before the brunette could untangle him from the folds draped over his head, and has it on and buttoned tightly within seconds. Now he looked smug – which was irritating with tones of cute – and Misaki was left with no option but wear the heavy coat and hope it didn’t get too hot. 

“Can we go? Before I’m tempted to throttle you?” Akihiko grabbed his wallet and phone from his own jacket, which he gave a mournful look.

Misaki gave him a quick once-over and said, “How can you be even more conspicuous when you’re smaller?!”

The scowl remained adorable the second time; this was good to know.

* * *

Misaki was intensely pleased to be validated when they head out onto the streets. Half of the people they pass turned and stared, and the other half stopped in their tracks and stared blatantly anyway. Misaki had expected Akihiko to deal with this with his normal style and grace, but when he looked over at the man, he found porcelain pale skin tinged with a distinct blush. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, leading them to the mouth of the subway station. 

Akihiko ran his fingers through his hair, almost returning it to its traditional style before it flopped forward. “I just remembered why I normally take my car.”

They weaved through a small crowd and Misaki reached the ticket machine, only to have Akihiko half-leap in front of him, an offended look on his face. 

“Son-of-a-bitch!” he spat in English, glaring at someone behind Misaki. He half-turned in time to spot a pair of older teenage boys in messy school uniforms, as the biggest winked cheekily at Akihiko. 

“Hey, blondie..!” He stuck his tongue out and sauntered away to the platforms as Akihiko bristled silently. Confused, Misaki glanced back and forth until the people behind start to mutter and he had to turn his attention back to the tickets. With them bought, he dragged Akihiko away at speed to catch the next train. 

It was a tight squeeze on the train at rush hour – Misaki ended up clinging to the handrail near the door, while Akihiko clutches his arm with a death grip. 

“This is hateful,” growled Usagi-san, fingers digging through the wool of Misaki’s coat and pressing uncomfortably into the bony joint of the elbow. Someone clearly bumped up against him as the train jerked into movement, and he ground his teeth audibly. 

“You’ll have to get used to it!” said Misaki firmly. “This is what normal people have to do every day!”

Akihiko made an anxious sort of noise and then yelped as someone groped him again. The school boys from before had reappeared and both were looking predatory. Misaki had a little experience dealing with perverts on the train – his train on the way to school often attracted them – but they had all been much older and more interested in the girls and their short, pleated skirts. But Akihiko seemed to attract all sorts, and he clearly didn’t appreciate it in the slightest; when the biggest teen draped blazer covered arms over Akihiko’s slim shoulders, Misaki could feel the man start to shake. Whether it was with rage, irritation or anxiety, he wasn’t entirely sure, but began to lean towards the former when Akihiko stamped down hard on the troublemaker’s foot. 

“Feisty!” exclaimed the schoolboy, wincing slightly. “You’re really pretty, you know, like a girl. I’d fuck you in a heartbeat.”

“Good to know,” said Akihiko and neatly kicked a foot up into an area the teen would have rather not been kicked in, just as the train rounded a corner at speed. The bigger one buckled and fell sideways into his crony, and both of them tumbled into a pair of well-endowed women. The screams were horrific, and Misaki had to cover his ears as the women laid into what they saw as their assaulters. Akihiko just watched cheerfully, a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth and sparks lighting off in his big blue eyes. He looked triumphant and utterly beautiful to Misaki, so much so that the howls of indignation were drowned out by the pounding of his heart. 

“Learnt that trick from my mother,” said Akihiko, after the train had stopped at the next station and the school boys escorted off by some salary-men, who had returned immediately to flirt with the women hopefully. “It was the only thing she ever taught me, aside from the best method of mixing vodka based drinks and how to roll a spliff.”

“Well, that was nice of her…” Misaki said vaguely. His track record of commenting on Akihiko’s mother wasn’t the best – as it turned out he was always overestimating how kind she was. 

“I’m not sure she really intended me to learn any of those things. It was more learning by osmosis – I was an empty vessel, and there were a lot of men my mother kicked.” Akihiko shrugged. “Although, I think she did actively teach me how to mix a Cosmopolitan once.”

“Oh!”

“I was eight.”

“Ah…” Misaki winced. He’d wandered straight into that trap again, only today Usagi-san clearly had much more worrying things on his mind than his mother. Normally just the thought of that parent would drive the man into a dreadful stormy mood, but now Akihiko’s face is clear of frowns and his eyes blank as a freshly wiped slate – that terrible coping mechanism of his, to hide all the emotions away somewhere unobvious, which annoyed Misaki awfully. It couldn’t be healthy, but there was little he could do to discourage it, or try to break the man out of it, at the moment. He made do with a sympathetic noise and a gentle squeeze to Akihiko’s thin forearm. The smile he received in return made the carriage a much nicer place to be.

* * *

This particular doctor’s surgery always made Misaki feel nervous, mostly because it was so sodding posh and all the clientele had clearly been on at least one magazine cover or newspaper frontline at some point. This time a male underwear model was lounging in a corner – he pays far too much attention to Akihiko and Misaki for the latter’s comfort – and a man Misaki’s sure was a famous disgraced politician was flopped between a pair of bored looking bodyguards. Akihiko checked himself in at the reception and then led them past their fellow patients to an isolated island of seats. 

“I’ll just stay out here…” said Misaki softly, as they settled into plush chairs. 

Akihiko gave him a horrified look – emphasised by his big lavender-blue eyes – and said, “Why the hell would you stay out here? You’re coming with me!”

“But, it’s your appointment and-“

“No ‘but’s, no ‘and’s, no argument,” snapped the blond. Even his new higher voice carried a stern tone that brooked no disagreement. “You are coming in with me.”

Misaki frowned himself, but there was no way Usagi-san was going to let him stay put. He’d come in and hope there was somewhere he could sit and be unobtrusive. Hopefully the doctor wouldn’t ask too many questions about them… He didn’t want to be a problem after all. 

The wait wasn’t long and soon a young woman appeared in a doorway and glanced at the notepaper in her hand. “Usami Akihiko?” she called, looking about hopefully. “If you would like to follow me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well!
> 
> Hope you're all satisfied with the turn this has taken! In case you're wondering what I was thinking of with the itsy-bitsy Akihiko, imagine a cross between the adorable!10-year-old and the strapping!but-not-quite-grown-up-yet-17ish teenagers from the Mistake manga and the Mistake episode in Sekaiichi Hatsukoi.


	5. Chapter 5

The doctor was a slightly nervous young woman, perched on an uncomfortable looking desk chair beside a bare desk. She smiled tightly as the two men entered the room and indicated the chairs opposite for them to sit in. 

“I’m Dr. Fujioka,” she said brightly, as if reading off an inner script. “What have you come to see me about today then?” She looked from Misaki to Akihiko as if trying to figure something out, and then glanced at her computer screen with a frown. “Sorry, just a second…”

“I’m actually thirty three,” said Akihiko glumly. The doctor’s head whipped around and then back to the screen again. 

“Really? Usami Akihiko?” 

“That is me.” He rattled off his birthdate, wincing as he said the year. The doctor sat very still for a moment and then nodded. 

“All right, sorry about that. I thought I had the wrong patient for a moment there. You look very young for your age.”

“I didn’t until this morning.” 

Once again the doctor froze for a second. “Ah. You think you have the de-aging syndrome?”

Misaki picked the picture he has of Usagi-san out of his wallet and handed it over, blushing furiously as he did so. The doctor looked at it for a long while. 

“Ah,” she said again. “I see. It certainly looks like it, doesn’t it.” She set the picture down and turned to her computer again for a second. “Ok… Just a few questions then, Usami-san… When did you notice this change again?”

“About seven this morning. When I woke up.”

“Uh-huh. And did you have any other symptoms that might have been related?”

“A terrible headache, but that’s about it.”

The woman nodded slowly. “Have you had any contact with anyone who has, or has had the de-aging syndrome?”

“Not that I know of…” Akihiko glanced at Misaki, who shook his head. 

“It may have been some time back. The virus that causes this often incubates in the body for a couple months.”

“I’ve been to a few public events in that time, but I still can’t think of anyone with this.”

“Hmmm…” She clicked something on her computer. “Any unusual symptoms within that time frame?”

Akihiko shook his head, looking vague, but Misaki nodded. 

“You’ve been twitchy, remember? I kept telling you to go to the doctor, but you wouldn’t,” he said quietly. The doctor watched him patiently. 

“I’m sorry – are you a relation?”

Misaki blushed bright crimson, a fresh surge of blood rising to his cheeks when Usagi-san said, “He’s my boyfriend.” There was a mulish look on the pretty face, daring the doctor to pass comment. Sensibly, she said nothing and smiled for Misaki to continue. 

“Um, yeah. You’ve been pacing all over the place for the past couple weeks, and you haven’t been eating as much. And you kept complaining of bad headaches.”

Dr. Fujioka nodded brightly and steepled her fingers. “Right. Well, there is a protocol for dealing with this syndrome. Firstly, I’ll have to do a quick physical examination and take some measurements, so we can figure out what age you currently, ah, appear to be. Then I’ll have to take some blood samples, preferably from the both of you.”

“Why from me?” Misaki bleated, not fond of the idea of facing down any needles. 

“To see if you are infected as well. I doubt it, as you would probably be showing similar symptoms to the ones you noticed in Usami-san, but it always pays to be cautious. There are markers in the blood that have been identified – we will be looking to see what strain you have got.”

“There’s more than one strain?” said Akihiko, starting to look a bit stressed. He was compulsively fiddling with his watch, which rolled loosely around his stick thin wrist. Misaki was almost tempted to reach out and touch his leg to calm him, but he couldn’t do such a thing in front of the doctor, even with her sympathetic smile and soft eyes. 

“There’s the acute strain, which is the most common, and the chronic strain…” She took a deep breath and launched into her speech. “The acute strain is the original, and is responsible for about 90% of the infections. It normally presents about two days after infection, and the effects wear off naturally in about a fortnight to a month. The chronic strain is technically just a long-term mutant of the acute strain – there aren’t any noticeable effects until a couple weeks after infection, and the effects take much longer to wear off.” Her eyes flickered unhappily. “Unfortunately, there are greater complications associated with it. As it invades the brain, some people start to suffer from a form of amnesia, and some continue to regress further than the original change. It’s essential that we pick out those at greater risk of that, so any treatments that are discovered can be supplied to them first.” 

Both Akihiko and Misaki exchanged glances as Dr. Endo smiled brightly. 

“So, who wants to go first?”

* * *

They left the doctor’s surgery half an hour later, sporting new plasters on their inner elbows and wielding a sheaf of freshly printed information. Misaki led the way back to the train station and they waited in silence on the platform. 

Misaki flipped through one of the pamphlets vaguely as they waited. It wasn’t that he had been expecting a cure right away, but the idea they might have to wait two weeks for everything to be normal again was bothersome. Especially since he was still not sure Akihiko should be driving anywhere, whether or not the doctor and all the literature said it was fine for him to do so. Also a problem had been the idea of quarantine – the doctor had hummed and hawed and finally decided there was little point, as the disease had little to no effect on anyone who wasn’t of some European extraction due to the genetic mutation it exploited. 

The train ground up and they hopped on – thankfully it was not as busy anymore, so they were able to get seats and no perverts chose to stand next to them this time. Misaki considered them very lucky – Akihiko looked ridiculously adorable in Misaki’s fleece, with the arms all bunched up around his wrists and elbows, the jacket abandoned across his knees. He looked about with those big blue eyes and sighed profoundly; the middle aged woman opposite looked up from her book and then gaped at the sight of him sitting opposite. 

“You should probably call Aikawa-san when we get home,” said Misaki as the train rolled around a corner. “Explain what happened.”

Akihiko have him a careful look and said, “The woman will go insane if she catches a glimpse of me like this. I think I’d rather avoid her instead.”

“After all you put her through, I think you owe her at least one sight of you,” said Misaki firmly. “Either you ring her, or I will.”

The carefully blank expression on Akihiko’s face didn’t change. “Fine, fine.” He flopped down further in the seat and glared at his hands on his lap. 

“Are you all right?” Misaki asked quietly, shuffling closer in his seat until their thighs touch. “Usagi-san?”

Akihiko hummed and stretched out his arms as the train rolled into a station. “I’m fine. Just shocked, that’s all…” As the train rumbled into motion again, Akihiko’s body rocked fully into Misaki’s flank. They fitted together well, but it wasn’t like the way they had fit together before. This wasn’t hiding in the protective shadow of Akihiko, but sitting level with him, shoulders bumping and arms touching. There was something pleasant about it that gave Misaki the courage to reach out and gently touch the blond man’s leg, even in full view of the woman opposite. She was still too busy just staring at Akihiko to notice what anyone else did, but Usagi-san gave Misaki a tiny little smile of gratitude and shuffled a tiny bit closer.

* * *

Aikawa arrived in a flurry of pharmacy bags and panic an hour after Misaki called her over. Akihiko was lying flat out on the sofa with a cushion over his face and didn’t sit up when his editor crashed in, so Misaki took it upon himself to calm her down. 

“You said he was ill!” she said accusingly. “I can’t have my author ill! I need him to write stuff!” She shoved an armful of bags into Misaki’s hands and stalked further into the penthouse, looking this way and that like an animal on the hunt. “Where is he?! He better not be malingering!”

With a sigh, Usagi-san sat up and peered at her over the back of the sofa. “I’m right here, you idiot woman.”

Aikawa swivelled, with the start of a tirade on her lips; the words dried up at the sight of the teenager leaning his chin on the back of the sofa, and she stood and just stared at him for a long while. 

The ‘squee’ noise arrived like a train bursting out of a tunnel –Misaki could hear it approaching but couldn’t do anything to stop it, except clap his hands over his ears and watch with horror and amusement as the woman nearly leapt at Akihiko. 

“So cute!” she crowed, grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him up so she could get a better look. “Ohh! You’re adorable!” 

With a grumpy snarl, Akihiko batted her hands off and sank back down onto the sofa again. “You must terrify small children on a regular basis.”

“None of them have ever been so cuu-te!” She prowled around the sofa and sat down beside him. “What age do you think you are?”

“I’m thirty-three!” Akihiko barked immediately. “I haven’t travelled back in fucking time, I’m just shorter!”

“He looks about fourteen.” Aikawa said, happily ignoring Akihiko’s outburst in favour of talking to Misaki. The brunette set the bags down against the sofa and went to make some drinks, watching Akihiko’s expression darken more and more as Aikawa explained that he was so cute and adorable and just look at the size of him, awwwwwwwwwwwww. It was all true of course, but it was becoming obvious that Usagi-san would probably murder the woman if she didn’t let up soon. 

“Tea or coffee, Aikawa-san?” he interrupted, holding up the mugs cheerfully. A look of utter relief passed over Akihiko’s face as the woman turned around to choose. “Would you like some sweets? I haven’t even managed to get halfway through the last batch you brought around.”

He kept up a litany of offers and banal chat until he handed over her tea and sat down with his own cup. Akihiko gave him a mournful look and went off to fetch a mug of coffee for himself – he had to strain on his tiptoes to reach the cabinet where the mugs were kept, and Misaki’s giggles were only muffled by Aikawa’s half-shriek of utter joy at the sight. She whipped out her phone and clicked a few hurried shots with the camera: Akihiko started at the noise and flailed desperately as his balance failed. Long legs suddenly lost their elegance and became inordinately gangly, and the poor boy tipped over with an impressive crash. 

Misaki and Aikawa both leapt up, half expecting there to be blood and cursing. There was certainly plenty of the latter, in a variety of languages, and then Akihiko clawed his way back up the side of the counters and appeared like a demon crawling up from a pit of hell, ruffled and angry. 

“Right!” he said, banging a mug down on the countertop. “Let’s get this straight, right now. I am not having fun looking like this. I didn’t enjoy it the first time round, and so far the second has been equally dreadful. While I still insist that I am thirty-three years old, what I currently look like is my fifteen or sixteen year old self. I’ll thank you not to treat me like I’m five.” He took a deep breath and continued, “Any questions?”

Aikawa fought for control over her delighted nature for a moment and then nodded calmly. “Sure. I’m sorry, sensei, but you are quite cute, and I couldn’t let such an opportunity slip away.” She carefully took the mug from his hand and crossed to the coffee machine to fill it up herself – a peace gesture if there ever was one. “What is your plan to deal with this?”

All anger had faded out of Akihiko’s body at the first sniff of percolating coffee and Misaki reminded himself that he hadn’t made breakfast yet, and it was nearly noon. A mid-morning snack might sweeten the man’s mood somewhat. As he considered what to make, Akihiko spoke thoughtfully, “I have to attend the doctor’s again tomorrow for the results of the tests. Then I’ll be able to tell you.”

“I’ll have to tell Isaka-san,” she said warningly, handing the mug of coffee over. Misaki watched in amazement as the two of them began to barter out the timeframe after which Aikawa could tell her boss that one of his company’s best writers had regressed in age by nearly two decades – Aikawa was starting at the ‘now’ end of the scale, while Akihiko was reluctantly working his way down from ‘how about never’. If he hadn’t been standing in the room while they had been interacting earlier, Misaki never would have believed that the woman had been fawning over Akihiko and that the young man had been hating her guts for every second of it. It was probably one of those things Usagi-san would scoff at and say was part of being a grown-up if confronted about, which Misaki was fairly sure wasn’t quite true. A highly dysfunctional grown-up, yes; a normal one, not so much. 

“Fine, you have two weeks.” Aikawa nodded firmly. “I can’t be held responsible if he finds out on his own though.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” Akihiko was practically nose deep in his coffee by this point, and Misaki almost considered asking if drinking that much caffeine was advisible with such a small body before his self-preservation instinct kicked in and he sidled into the kitchen to make lunch instead.

* * *

Aikawa left after lunch, and Akihiko and Misaki were able to relax in their own ways. Misaki fluttered about and cleaned ferociously, pausing every few minutes to feel his own forehead for a temperature. While he did this, Usagi-san lay full length on the sofa again and buried his face in a cushion; it was a distinctly worrying position for anyone to lie in, and Misaki had to check on him every so often to make sure he hasn’t suffocated himself. 

“I am fine,” he whined after the fourth disturbance, “Please just let me sleep…”

“You look like you’re trying to kill yourself!” Misaki prodded Akihiko’s ribcage, and surprised himself to feel bones so close to the surface. 

Akihiko growled and rolled over to curl onto his side. “I always slept like this when I was younger. It’s more comfortable.”

“You’re too bony,” said Misaki, “You should eat more.”

“I eat all I can.” This time Akihiko huddled up more and whined about being treated cruelly. “Are you going to call your brother today?”

For a second, Misaki froze– should he? He kind of owed Takahiro the right to know if his little brother was ill, but at the same time there was little point in worrying the man. Dr Fujioka had seemed unconcerned about Misaki’s chances of having the virus, as he was full-blooded Japanese, and had admitted the samples taken from him were mostly for sheer peace of mind rather than any diagnostic value. 

“No… I don’t want to bother him.” He stared at his hands, settled uselessly in his lap. “I’ll call when you get your results back, and you can tell him about yourself.”

Akihiko made a disgruntled noise – Misaki wasn’t sure whether it was about his inability to ‘bother’ anyone, or about Akihiko having to tell someone else that he had shrunk – and wrapped his arms around Misaki’s waist. 

“Hey! None of this perverted shit! You’re diseased!”

“Oh charming!” Akihiko sneered, but he let go obediently. “What are we having for dinner?”

“You just ate lunch!”

Akihiko’s smile was devilish and lovely in all sorts of ways. “My appetite has returned with a vengeance, I’m afraid. Do you feel up to cooking, or shall we order in?”

Misaki was torn between chiding the man for his greediness and blushing hugely at his thoughtfulness. He settled for chiding the man while blushing hugely and stomped away to finish his dusting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm...
> 
> So, what will the blood tests show? Who knows! (Aside from me, of course. And a few of you savvy folk as well.)


	6. Chapter 6

Akihiko looked frail and ill this morning, head resting against the window of the taxi as they slithered through rainy morning traffic. He had once again had to borrow some of Misaki’s clothes, and this ensemble made him look even younger than before, mostly because of the massive panda bear emblazoned on the front of his shirt. 

Misaki wasn’t feeling much better than Akihiko looked, if he was honest. He had kept waking up throughout the night, afraid that the syndrome had extended its strange claws and got him too, but the dawn had arrived and the brunette was still his full twenty-three year old self. Part of him had been hoping he’d look over and find Akihiko back to his normal appearance, but this had sadly not happened, and both of them had been glum at breakfast. 

Now he was uncomfortably aware that the taxi driver kept glancing back at them in his rearview mirror when the traffic was completely stationary. Usagi-san had thrown up his head at the thought of another train journey, and Misaki had grudgingly agreed to just call a taxi instead. The driver had clearly been intently suspicious of the two young men getting into his car, and had shot Misaki a highly unimpressed look after Akihiko had clambered in. Misaki had been left standing in the drizzle, feeling like a massive pervert for no fault of his own, until Akihiko had leant back out and asked if he was feeling all right. 

The most worrying part of all that was the bit where those had been all the words that Akihiko had spoken to him all morning, bar the thanks for breakfast. Misaki kept half-glancing around and finding the young man watching him with a grieved expression on his pretty face, brow crumpled with guilt. Part of him wanted to confront the other man about it immediately, but the time slipped away and now they were in a taxi with a driver who clearly believed Misaki was partaking in some illicit nookie with an under-aged boy, so it probably wasn’t the most appropriate time. Instead he tucked himself up in his seat and stared out of the window, tracing the raindrops down the glass until they disappeared from view.

* * *

This time the doctor’s waiting room contained an actress and a rich looking man holding a baby nervously, jiggling it carefully whenever it made any hint of noise. For a moment Misaki had the horrible thought that the infant might be someone struck down with the Russian Syndrome, until a salt-and-peppered haired doctor appeared out of his consultation room and called, “Watanabe-san? If you’d like to bring your son through now.”

The rich looking man gathered up a huge amount of baby paraphernalia and placed it all back in a massively expensive looking pram, nearly forgetting to leave enough space for the baby itself. Misaki watched as the actress fluttered her thick eyelashes at him and was roundly ignored. Her pout wasn’t nearly as attractive as the press always claimed it was, he thought when she began to sulk; Akihiko’s was much prettier, even when he had been over six foot tall and the epitome of masculine elegance. Beside him, the new version of this elegance was flipping through the pages of a high couture magazine and pausing every so often to frown at picture. Misaki glanced over in time to catch a glimpse of a familiar looking blonde bombshell posing in a floor length dress and a silly looking hat, before the page was turned so violently the paper almost tore in half. Unfortunately for Akihiko’s shredded temper, the next picture was also of the same woman and Misaki placed his hand over the magazine before this photo could be removed as quickly. 

“That’s your mother isn’t it?”

“My aunt, actually. They look very similar.” Akihiko glared at the photo. “Kauruko’s mother.”

“No!” Misaki snatches the magazine away and reads the tiny type denoting the name of the model and her designers – sure enough it reads Usami Ayako. “This is really Karuoko-san’s mother?”

Akihiko nods glumly. “Karuoko looks more like her father; otherwise we’d look almost identical I think.”

There’s a whole ten pages filled with photos of this woman, all wearing fairly ridiculous clothes and in quite strange poses. “I didn’t know she was a model…”

“She needed something to do with her time probably. That didn’t involve booze or men – my mother monopolised those past-times long ago.” Shrugging, he slouched in his chair. “She’s much nicer than my mother, but, then again, wolverines are nicer than my mother.”

It was probably the best point in that conversation for Dr. Fujioka to call them into the consultation room.

* * *

“Right!” She sounded suspiciously cheerful as she clasped her hands on her bare desk. “We have the results back! I should ask though, are you both feeling all right?” She glanced back and forth between them – Akihiko’s pale, gloomy face to Misaki’s anxious frown – and laughed nervously when neither of them answered. “Still shocked? It must be hard to accept things like this, I suppose.”

“It is,” said Akihiko firmly. “The results, please, doctor?”

“Ah, yes.” She clicked at her computer for a second and nodded, meeting Misaki’s gaze first with big, dark and sorrowful eyes. “Takahashi-san is clear of the virus markers entirely. I can almost certainly say that you will not develop the syndrome: you definitely will not come down with the same strain as Usami-san.”

Misaki hadn’t realised how scared he’d been of catching the de-aging virus until he was told this – it was like someone had lifted a stone block off his shoulders. Beside him he clearly heard Akihiko give a soft sigh, like a weak laugh of relief, and looked about to see a beautiful smile on his lover’s face, lighting up his expression infinitely. 

Then Dr. Fujioka turned to Usagi-san, cleared her throat and said solemnly, “Unfortunately it appears you have the chronic strain, Usami-san.”

The room rang with silent confusion for a long while, the smile on Akihiko’s face fading slightly. 

“That means..?” he asked. 

“It will take longer for you to return to normality. And there are greater risks involved. Did I give you the leaflets?” She fumbled for another handful of them until Misaki admits they did receive them, and accidentally abandoned them on a subway train. “Fair enough. Well, the chronic strain breaches the barrier between the blood and the brain. Once it does this, it can start to affect the brain in the same way it affected the rest of the body, and the patient starts to suffer from amnesia. Some patients start to ‘de-age’ further as well…” She looked very anxious now, but continued to talk. “There is a point that the patient’s body cannot take being ‘aged’ below, and if they reach that point, we start to see fatalities. So far, there is only a potential cure, but it has not been physically tested yet.”

“So, if I start to ‘de-age’ again, I’m screwed?” 

The doctor made a face. “At the moment, there’s certainly a possibility of death, but there is a lot of focus on finding a cure, or at least a delaying tactic. We should see something within a month or so… For now, I’d like to do some more tests to see how far the virus has invaded in your body, and then we can figure out how much…” She trailed off. 

“How much time I have?” Akihiko filled in the gap in a dull voice. 

“Essentially yes. Although, I must highlight that this is by no means a death sentence. There is a greater risk associated with the chronic syndrome than the acute, but many patients with the chronic syndrome recover naturally and have no complications.”

There was a long silence before Akihiko nodded firmly. “All right. Do what you want.”

“I’ll need more blood samples…” She checked her notes again; Misaki wasn’t stunned enough to ignore just how anxious this doctor seemed to be. “You’ll need to check into hospital for a day, so they can take a sample of your spinal fluid… I’ll get that arranged now… And maybe a PET scan…” She scowled. “Sorry, the guidelines for dealing with this are very new, and not well set out. I’ll call around and see what I can find out from some colleagues. We have your phone number on file, yes?” When Akihiko indicated they did, she nodded contentedly. “Good. I’ll call you by tomorrow evening and we can discuss investigations and so forth then?”

“Sounds fine.”

* * *

Another taxi ride later, and Misaki was standing in the middle of the penthouse floor and trying desperately not to cry. Usagi-san was hanging his borrowed coat up on a peg, face balmy calm, as if he hadn’t just been given terrible news by an incredibly nervous doctor. 

When Misaki caught sight of a slight grin on the boy’s pale lips, his heart did an unpleasant twisting manoeuvre in his chest and the tears bubble up unstoppably. The first sob rang out loud across the wooden floors and Akihiko turned abruptly to find his lover in floods of helpless tears. 

“What..?” Akihiko froze up for a second – tears always worried him in an unexplainable way – and then padded to Misaki’s side. The younger man half-collapsed onto Akihiko’s shoulder and sobbed brokenly as Akihiko hugged him tightly and tried to figure out what was wrong. This whole comforting business was much easier whenever he had been six foot tall and could carry Misaki about the place – now he had to just stand there and hope the boy would stop weeping long enough to walk him to the sofa. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want you to d-d-d-“ Misaki’s sobs increased, and his knees went. Akihiko found himself incapable of holding his lover up any more and they both sank to the floor. They’d often ended up in this position before, but now the hard floor bit into Akihiko’s bony knees and his borrowed t-shirt was being dampened by tears of grief rather than those of overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god…”

“Misaki…” He hugged the boy close, wrapping his thin arm around his shoulders and coaxing Misaki’s head down into the crook of his neck. Soft strands of chocolate brown hair teased the underside of his jaw, brushing lightly against his lips. “Please stop..? Tell me what’s wrong?”

Misaki jerked his head back and nearly screamed, “I don’t want you to die!” And with that out, he gave a hopeless whine and threw his head back into the other man’s shoulder. 

“…fair enough…” He shifted them slightly so they were lying on the floor instead, to save his painfully bony joints from the hardwood. Misaki clung to his shirt, nails digging into the skin beneath as he convulsed with sobs; Akihiko didn’t feel there was much he could do to soothe his lover’s misery except mutter comforting nonsense and hold him close. It took a long, miserable while for Misaki to quieten, in which time Akihiko grows cold and gloomy himself. He didn’t like to see Misaki upset ever, but this time was even worse because he was growing acutely aware of why Misaki was crying. 

There was a chance he would die. Akihiko had always been aware of his own mortality – his mother had taken care of that for him with her lethal temper and tendency to lash out whenever and wherever she had felt like it – but years, decades even, of close contact had led him to be a bit lackadaisical in respect to it. He had always kind of expected death to sneak up on him like it had done with his grandfather – pouncing on him while he slept at the grand old age of 99 – but to have it bluntly announced to him was an intense shock. Of course, his method of dealing with shock was to clam up and freeze himself to the outside world, rather than face the facts. 

As he considered this, suddenly gripped in the icy hold of misery, Misaki was rubbing the tears off his face and sitting up, looking ashamed and embarrassed. He almost made it away, muttering something about going to the bathroom, but Akihiko held onto his arm. 

“No running away,” he said firmly. “Sit here with me and explain why you’re crying.”

“Idiot,” said Misaki, still refusing to look at Akihiko. “I told you already…”

“You should elaborate a touch.” When Misaki tried to wriggled away again, Akihiko lunged at him and shoved him down again, sitting on his stomach and doing his best to look haughty. It was hard when you were small and pretty, but he did his damndest. “Misaki, tell me.”

Brilliant green eyes flickered back and forth nervously, before Misaki spoke, his voice tiny, “… I don’t want you to d-d… die…”

“I’m not going to,” he said, feeling a touch exasperated. He doesn’t want to think about this. 

“But you heard the doctor!”

“I did, and what she actually said was I won’t necessarily die.”

“There’s a greater chance!” Misaki snapped back. “Don’t be a jerk about this!”

Akihiko growled, now feeling more than a touch exasperated. “I’m the one who’s not going to die! You don’t get to tell me whether to be a ‘jerk’ about it or not.”

This was evidently the wrong thing to say, because Misaki started, his face contorting in sudden anger, and shoved Akihiko off. He sprawled on the floor, wheezing slightly with the jolt to his ribs, while Misaki stormed away. By the time the young man had picked himself off the hardwood, the front door had slammed shut and Akihiko was alone and unhappy.

* * *

By the time Misaki had calmed himself enough to face his landlord again, Usagi-san was well and truly piss drunk. He had unearthed a bottle of whisky as soon as he had picked himself off the floor and had polished off nearly the whole bottle; his new smaller body was unable to process the alcohol as well as normal, and he’d forgotten his limits about halfway down the bottle. 

“Are you mad?” Misaki scowled down at the liquid pile of limbs heaped on the sofa cushions, his frown deepening when Akihiko raised his whisky glass in a sloppy salute. “You drunkard.”

“You lef’ me,” said Akihiko, trying to sit up and failing. “Are you all righ’ no’?” His smile was wobbly. “I was a jerk, hmm?”

“Took you long enough to realise.” Misaki picked up the bottle of whisky and raised his eyebrows at the spirit level within. He was tired and cold and still angry and still intensely upset, and now he had come home to find this aggravating creature completely and utterly wasted. “I’m going to bed.”

Akihiko raised bleary eyes, looking horrified at the thought. “Wha’? No, stay!”

“Why?” Misaki crossed his arms. 

“I don’ wan’ you to go!” Slim fingers wavered in the air quite some distance from Misaki’s shirt, which was clearly Usagi-san’s target. He looked so painfully miserable, eyes watery with unshed and alcoholic tears, that Misaki’s notoriously soft heart weakened immediately. “Plea’?”

“You’re a complete drunk,” said Misaki again, sinking onto the floor beside the sofa. Shaking fingers entwined with his hair, pulling a few strands out accidentally, and Akihiko’s alcohol sodden head draped down to rest on Misaki’s shoulder. 

“’m sorry,” muttered Akihiko forlornly, his breath almost crystallised with alcohol. “I was a jerk.”

Misaki huffed in embarrassed, frustrated annoyance, but the admission soothed his hurt somewhat. “We’ll see when you sober up.” But he still leant his head against Akihiko’s in a manner that could almost be considered affectionate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Akihiko. I do love you, but you're a absolute ass.
> 
> Just an angsty filler-y chapter there folks. Next chapter, I promise we'll get back to the sexings. Hurrah! =D


	7. Chapter 7

Despite his dreadful – and well deserved, in Misaki’s opinion – hangover, Usagi-san was incredibly cheerful the next morning. He spent half an hour in a warm bath, with a basin balanced on the rim of the tub in case of a wave of nausea, and then nearly skipped downstairs.

Misaki was scrubbing sticky rings of whisky off the coffee table when Akihiko appeared, and nearly choked on his own tongue at the sight. Usagi-san was only wearing a towel low on his thin hips, his chest and stomach still slick with water. 

“Put some goddamn clothes on!” he barked, accidentally squeezing the trigger of his furniture polish so hard spray cascades over his fingers and coats the carpet and table below. “You’re such a pervert!”

“It’s my apartment,” said Akihiko happily, wandering into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. “And therefore I can dress as I want.”

Misaki swiped angrily at the spillage on the table and growled uncomplimentary things under his breath. He was still angry at Usagi-san after his behaviour yesterday, and the drunken apology he had received hadn’t soothed him for long, especially when he’d had to spend an hour holding hair back from the boy’s face as he’d vomited up his stomach’s worth of whisky. His mood was so foul that Akihiko managed to pick up on it, and quietened obediently, padding over to the sofa like a penitent.

“You’re still mad at me?”

“Of course!” Misaki jumped up and threw the cleaning rag at the young man’s head. “You were a massive jerk! I’m scared, and you ignore it! Don’t I get a say in any of these things?!”

Akihiko fluttered blonde eyelashes and sat silent and stunned. It aggravated Misaki than even the young man’s dumbfounded face was astonishingly pretty and distracted him from his righteous anger. 

“We keep having this stupid discussion about how much you love me again and again, but I don’t think you actually understand what you’re saying!”

“I don’t…”

“I have told you already! If you love me you have to trust me! You have to let me help you! It would be nice if you would let me worry about you!”

“I don’t want you to wo-“

Misaki slapped his hand over Usagi-san’s mouth. “Don’t say it! If I’m your l-l-lo…” He clenched his teeth together for a moment and then nodded. “If I’m your lover then it’s my job to worry about you. After all you worry about me.”

Akihiko’s glacial blue eyes softened even more. When Misaki removed his hand, a kitten pink tongue lapped over his lips and then he spoke, “All right. I’m sorry. Tell me what’s wrong, and tell me what to do about it.”

He took a deep breath and explained. He explained about he had terrified about the diagnosis, and how he still was terrified, and he was going to continue to be terrified until Akihiko was cured. He explained about how scared he was that Akihiko was going to die, and that he was really, really damned pissed off that Akihiko had dismissed him. 

“I want you to listen to me,” he said, aware that he was shaking violently with fear and embarrassment. “I want you to accept that you might die.”

“I might die, yes,” said Akihiko, straightening his spine. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know…” Misaki whispered. “Promise me that you’ll not die..?”

Akihiko smiled weakly and stood up. “I’m not entirely sure I can do that.” His fingers traced over Misaki’s cheek, sending shivers down his spine. “I will certainly try.”

“…” The words jammed in Misaki’s throat, crushed in place by his blush. 

“Forgive me for last night?”

“Yeah…” Misaki’s cheek was burning with Akihiko’s touch, and he couldn’t take it anymore. With a strangled yelp he fled, and Akihiko was left to smile kindly after him.

* * *

Humiliated, but feeling considerably better, Misaki retired to the study so he could pretend to do some dusting and mutter to himself irritably. Finally he flopped down in the computer chair and placed his forehead on the cool surface of the wood, whining anxiously in his throat.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Akihiko had slipped through the door, fully clothed this time in one of Misaki’s old shirts and a pair of shorts. He looked doubly spindly today, probably because his bony knees protruding just beneath the hem of the shorts, and Misaki sighed at the sight, not entirely sure why he did. Before he could respond to the question, Akihiko eased himself into one of the other armchairs and stretched out, popping his toes against the floor, before speaking softly, “I was rude about your concerns because I was relieved myself. I was worried that you had been infected as well. I didn’t want you to suffer this same stupid disease, and the thought that I might have brought it into our home and given it to you was… Troubling, to say the least. So when the doctor told us that you were fine…” His sigh was a whisp of breath, carrying relief in huge crystallised quantities. “You know I care about you, Misaki, more so than about myself. This is my only excuse for being so scornful and rude.”

“You are an idiot,” said Misaki firmly, swiping tears from his cheeks. He hadn’t even realised he’d been crying, and gratefully accepted Akihiko’s comfort when he offered it in the shape of a concerned expression and open arms. Both of them fit snugly into the armchair together, Misaki huddled down slightly so he could rest his head on Akihiko’s shoulder. It was warm and snug and comfortable to be tucked up so close, and Misaki’s heart began to pound harder even as he tried to quell the reaction. 

Eventually the warmth and closeness and satisfied feeling of an acceptable apology began to get the better of him, and he shifted uncomfortably with the realisation he was starting to get aroused. His wriggling garnered him a curious look and then smug satisfaction dawns in Akihiko’s eyes, lids dropping down to give him a canny expression. 

“Something wrong?” he crooned, leaning in even closer until his breath was tickling Misaki’s cheek. “You look… stressed all of a sudden.”

“It’s nothing!” Misaki bleated, his voice suddenly an octave up the register. 

“Are you sure?” purred Akihiko, a slim hand drifting down Misaki’s stomach. The student yelped in shock and slapped the investigate paw away. “Ow…” He developed a kicked-puppy expression that Misaki was hard pressed to resist. “How can you be so cruel to me..?” As he began to pretend to sob, Misaki swatted him repeatedly, until he was huddled against the arm of the chair and he was nearly crying properly with laughter. “All right, all right! I give up! Surrender!”

Unfortunately the extra squirming hadn’t done Misaki’s little problem any favours, and the sight of Akihiko flushed and giggling didn’t help either. He tried to cross his legs and disguise the bulge in his jeans, but Akihiko’s surrender was incredibly short-lived. That pesky hand was skittering around Misaki’s flies again, and warm, coffee scented breath was rasping over Misaki’s ear.

“How about we make up properly?” Akihiko nosed thick brunette locks, smiling at the scent of Misaki’s shampoo. “Isn’t that the proper thing to do after you have fought with your lover?”

Crimson spread across Misaki’s cheek and he stuttered something unintelligible. 

“What was that?”

“I’m not having sex with you while you’re twelve!” he blurted angrily. 

“I’m not twelve for a start,” said Akihiko, his voice momentarily icy. “I am thirty-three. I merely look like I did when I was sixteen, maybe fifteen.” With that clarified, his tone softened and became honeyed and sultry; Misaki’s mouth dried up at the sound, his heart thrumming a speed faster. “And I could have sworn that you were interested in me. You certainly seem to be happy to be near me.” 

“Nonsense!” Misaki croaked. “I can’t…”

“But you want to , Misaki…” Akihiko purred, “Because you know it’s me, and you think I’m pretty…” 

“I do not!” he squawked, whimpering as Akihiko stretched lazily and draped himself partially over Misaki’s lap. “Get off me!”

“Mi-saki…” Akihiko smiled coyly and reached up to stroke the student’s smooth cheek. “Come on, Misaki, let me have some fun?” He sat up slightly, his breath tickling under Misaki’s jawline and his soft lips pressing to the hollow of a trembling throat. Misaki’s mouth fell open and he made a helpless little squeaking noise. He wanted to, desperately and deeply wanted to push Akihiko down and have his filthy, and terribly unsure, way with him. But his conscience was screaming at him that it was terribly, terribly wrong to want to do so. Whether it was because Akihiko looked so youthful, or because he was technically diseased, or if it was just Misaki’s traditional reluctance coming through, he wasn’t sure…

Minty, coffee flavoured breath purred along Misaki’s cheek and his nerves twanged almost audibly. His fingers itched to touch the slim, lithe limbs draped over him, to tangle in the soft locks and pull his head back and bare that ivory throat. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, but he certainly didn’t fight when Akihiko sat up and kissed him hard.

* * *

How they got to the bed, Misaki could never work out – but there they were, Akihiko’s hands already sliding down to trail over his lover’s waistband as they kissed. Akihiko was nearly purring, humming in contentment with their closeness. As he was pulled close, Misaki whined with shaking pleasure, muffled with Akihiko’s soft lips. It was strange to not have to bend his head back to kiss his lover, to not be able to reach up and settle his hands on broad shoulders. The hands making merry with the buttons on his trousers weren’t as reassuringly heavy and strong as before, but still elegant, with long fingers. 

When Akihiko drew back, Misaki flickered his eyes open and met light blue eyes staring directly into his own; there was a quizzical light in them as he set his hands on Misaki’s own and pulled them down to his slim hips. 

“And which way do you want to play this?” asked Akihiko, his voice quiet but firm. When Misaki only opened and closed his mouth, like a fish, the blond smiled and shook his head. “All right…” He leant forward and jerked in surprise when Misaki leant forward to meet the kiss hungrily. “Hmm!”

Misaki couldn’t help himself; he raised his hands and tangled his fingers in Akihiko’s silvery blonde hair, dragging his nails softly along his scalp so that Akihiko gasped and shivered, body going tense with pleasure. There were any number of various things Misaki longed to do to that lithe body but he could only tease his lover gently, scratching his scalp and tugging gently on thin strands of hair, mouthing nervous kisses to a soft jaw. Akihiko moaned softly and then began to show Misaki how it was done. 

Shirts, trousers, and underwear were removed and flung to the side of the bed with gay abandon, Misaki was shoved back onto the bed and Akihiko leapt onto him, straddling his lap. How they had got naked so quickly was clearly part of the seme magic that Misaki hadn’t fully understood yet, much as how they had managed to get to the bedroom so fast. 

Naked, and straddling Misaki’s lap, Akihiko gave a distinctly pleased cackle and knelt up; Misaki was able to run his gaze up and down the length of his thighs and torso, silently enjoying the sight of such pale and undamaged skin on display. Exonerably, his gaze was drawn back down, from the smug expression on that youthful face, to his erection standing proud from its nest of silvery curls. His cock wasn’t as long and thick as it was in his adulthood, but was still impressive in relation to the size of the rest of him. Misaki realised he’d been staring with a start of horror and looked up as Akihiko bent over in near hysterical laughter. The only way to silence him was another kiss, biting hard onto his lower lip and sucking until he shuddered, knees tightening about Misaki’s hips. 

“You’re getting a bit pushy,” groaned Akihiko, still not losing the smug expression. “I thought I was in charge here.”

“Then do something!” he exclaimed and then went bright crimson. “Oh!”

Akihiko’s mouth latched onto one of Misaki’s nipples with no warning; the student lurched upwards, mouth wide open in a silent moan. His hands drifted into Akihiko’s hair again, gripping and controlling the mouth sucking and nipping along his chest, the broad wet tongue salving stinging bite-marks. One of Akihiko’s small palms slid down and wrapped around Misaki’s cock, pressing it up against the student’s flat stomach so he could fondle his sac, a long index finger probing down to his pucker. Misaki’s breath hitched at being penetrated dry, but Akihiko only teased him softly with his fingertip, before withdrawing both his hand and his mouth from Misaki’s body. 

Misaki whined helplessly and then swore breathlessly as that pretty mouth lapped down his belly and swallowed his cock down in one quick movement. As Misaki threw his head back, Akihiko choked quietly, struggling to get into a proper rhythm for a few moments – his smaller mouth making it harder to take all the slick flesh in at once. Not that Misaki seemed to mind that he wasn’t been sucked off as expertly as usual, he was writhing and whimpering under his lover’s feathery light touch. Akihiko ran his fingertips across Misaki’s tight belly, down his hipbones, along the twitching, delicate skin of his inner thighs. He raised his mouth to lick around the head, running his tongue along the underside and dipping his tongue into the slit – a move that never failed to make Misaki bleat unintelligently and shudder. The taste made him smile and moan quietly, salty fluid spreading over his tongue and making him salivate even more than the natural sweet taste of Misaki’s flesh itself did. Excess spittle trickled from the corner of his lips and lubricated the rest of Misaki’s shaft and Akihiko’s hand so he could slowly stroke the base of his cock. With the other hand, he carefully stretched his lover’s pucker out, ending up with two of his fingers pulsing in and out of his lover. Stretched above him on the sheets, Misaki continued to whimper and writhe, belly and thighs convulsively shuddering as he reached his peak – Akihiko withdrew his mouth once again, with a smug smile jerked the boy’s cock firmly all the way through his orgasm. 

Akihiko raised his sticky hand to his mouth, and slowly, sensually, licked his thumb clean, smiling broadly and hungrily. Misaki watched his lover trail his fingers across his flushed, swollen lips one by one, coating his kitten pink tongue with come and swallowing contentedly, eyes hooded and smoky. At this display, Misaki’s erection sprang to life again, rubbing against the slick skin of Usagi-san’s cock and making them both moan. 

Misaki gave a disappointed cry when there were no more delicate, teasing touches burning along his skin, adding to the ferocious boil in his stomach that had threatened to overwhelm him. Now he was staring up at his lover, the slim length of his torso and thighs rearing up between Misaki’s thighs, aligning himself for the first, spine-arching push. Misaki cried out and heaved in a few deep breath to accustom himself to the length inside him – it felt so different to normal, not the same length and weight inside him, that it was like being taken by someone new. He reached up, eyes welling up with sudden, irrational fear and tugged Akihiko down for a kiss. At the very least it was the same kiss, the same taste, and the fear dissipated when his lover began to thrust into him. 

Carefully, Akihiko rearranged his lover’s thighs so they were draped over his slim shoulders and was able to push in deeper. As the slim cock inside him rubbed firmly against the hub of nerves that made the rest of his body jerk and seize helplessly, he slid his palms down Akihiko’s chest, scratching his nails over peach pale nipples; Akihiko gasped and bucked his hips harder, gripping Misaki’s thighs tightly. 

“Fuck!” he groaned, “God, you’re so…” He gasped again, breath rasping huskily in his throat, thrusting in hard a few times and having to pause for a moment to regain his composure. “It’s like being a teenager again!” he chuckled, chest heaving heavily as he fought for his breath. 

Misaki turned his face away to hide his embarrassment and then gasped himself as Akihiko latched onto his earlobe, nibbling around the shell of his ear and nuzzling deeply into his chocolate brown hair as he began to thrust again. This time it was Misaki who lost his cool first – he had to fumble down for his own cock, and the first few tugs on his spit slicked erection made him come with a strangled shout. Akihiko’s tortured patience snapped as his lover’s body spasms around his own, and his thrusts became irregular as he flooded Misaki’s body. 

At least this time Akihiko managed to control himself enough to avoid collapsing on top of his lover’s body – instead he withdrew himself shakily and flopped down to the side, still shuddering and trembling with the aftershocks.

* * *

Akihiko’s body curled up around him, not providing quite the right amount of coverage to soothe Misaki’s post-coital shivers. He spent a few moments trembling and wondering how to broach the subject before he decided to just go for it, rolled onto his back and hauled Akihiko atop of him, sighing in contentment at silky skin rubbing against his own. Akihiko wriggled into a more comfortable position, nestling their limbs together, and tucked his head into the curve of Misaki’s throat. 

They fell asleep together, tucked up contentedly, and napped for an hour, when it was Akihiko that woke with a nervous start for once and tipped himself off his new perch. There was a distinct stickiness about Misaki’s belly and thighs and he grimaced as the sheets stuck to him as he tried to move. Beside him, Akihiko created himself a little nest in the ruffled sheets and murred irritably when Misaki attempted to chivvy him up for a shower. 

“I’ve already had a shower today,” he grumbled, finally prying himself from the bed and staggering upright. Misaki was gifted an excellent view for a few moments, especially when the blonde bent over to retrieve some item of clothing tangled about his feet. “For all of your complaints about my accusing you of such things, you do seem to spend a lot of time ogling my rear end.” A canny blue gaze met startled green, and was almost instantaneously smothered by a well-thrown pillow while Misaki yelped and ran for the bathroom.

* * *

As many things were, having a shower with the new Usagi-san was different. The cubicle, which had previously felt luxuriously large, was now full of empty echoes around the two young men. Misaki scrubbed his belly and chest down with soap, while Akihiko leant up against his back and generally made a clingy nuisance of himself. 

“You are a pest!” A dollop of foam was blown into Akihiko’s face and making him gag and flail in disgust. By the time he had wiped the first amount of lather out of his eyes, Misaki had prepared a fresh handful of soap to attack his lover’s hair with. Akihiko flailed and wriggled more, fighting Misaki off weakly until they were both laughing and panting with the effort. It was then Misaki realised than instead of Akihiko pinning him to the tiles, he had pressed Akihiko’s back to the cold ceramic and was watching hungrily as the blonde boy squirmed. He let go sharply, blushing furiously and turned back to the shower spray to rinse himself off. Behind him, he could still hear Akihiko’s panting breaths, feel the cool fire of his gaze on the back of his neck, but he ignored it studiously, finished showering and went to dry off. 

With a towel bound about his waist, Misaki was feeling distinctly vulnerable and upsettingly aroused, and therefore not pleased that Akihiko had snuck after him into the bedroom. 

“You could top me easily now,” said Akihiko quietly. His eyes were bright with passion, baby blues sparkling like glacial ice. “You’re certainly bigger than me.”

Misaki said nothing, for fear of betraying his feelings, fumbling through his dresser for some clothes. 

“You can’t pretend you aren’t interested. I can see you are.” Akihiko’s voice was a silken, soft purr: husky and coy. “I’ll happily let you fuck me, if you want.” He drifted delicate fingers over Misaki’s shoulders, and giggled – who ever heard of the esteemed Usami Akihiko giggling? - when the young man stiffened his spine and stared ahead determinedly. “Whenever you want me, Misaki...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurr hurr hurr…
> 
> Well, that was remarkably fun to write. We'll be experiencing reversed positions next time – I'm looking forward to writing it far, far too much.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the day of Usagi-san’s lumbar puncture, so the progress of the virus through his system could be measured, and they were waiting anxiously in a little curtained cubicle in an out-patient’s ward. Akihiko was in a hospital gown which absolutely dwarfed him, the hem at the front trailing at his ankles and the sleeves billowing about his arms. His shirt and trousers Misaki had neatly folded and set in his bag at the side of the hospital bed, and he was naked except for the gown, a pair of Misaki’s underwear and a pair of ludicrously fluffy bed socks. He looked particularly tiny and vulnerable perched on the edge of the hospital bed, and Misaki was about to make some sort of comforting move when the curtain swept open and the doctor who had explained the procedure only fifteen minutes before stepped in, following by a severe looking nurse with a tray full of accoutrements. She set in down on the little bedside table and took up a position beside it, peeling a sterile package open and handing the contents to the doctor. 

The needle was absolutely huge; Misaki took one look at it and felt his stomach turn, while across the bed Usagi-san turned a remarkable shade of grey. The doctor nodded, turning it this way and that, before choosing a small syringe and setting up some swabs. 

“If I could ask you to step out for a few moments, Takahashi-san?” The doctor unrolled a plastic apron and snapped a pair of gloves on. Akihiko made a distinctly unhappy face but wriggled into position on the hospital bed, lying uncomfortably on his side and clutching his bony knees to his chest. Misaki gave him a sympathetic look and nipped through the curtains and into the busy ward beyond. There were hordes of anxious looking women in the waiting room outside, some ferociously focused on their distractions – books, puzzles, small children – while others stared at the wall with terrible blankness. Misaki chose a seat in a corner and pulled some of his notes out of his bag. 

It was an hour or so before a nurse bustled out and called his name, so he was able to re-enter the ward under the gaze of any number of jealous eyes. The curtains were drawn tightly around Akihiko’s bed, but Misaki steeled his spine and fumbled for the gap between the drapes so he could nip inside. Flat on his back and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world and with what amount of spinal fluid had been taken out returned to him, Akihiko smiled weakly as Misaki padded over. 

“I hate needles,” he said, firmly. Misaki muttered something non-committal and sat down in the uncomfortable chair at the bedside. “And I’m not fond of hospitals at the moment.”

“Few people are,” said Misaki, bringing out his notes again. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“A couple hours.” Akihiko shifted gingerly. 

“Does your back hurt?” Misaki lowered his papers for a second and eyed the teenager sprawled on the bed carefully. He was paler than normal, and with that specially unhappy expression on his handsome face, but didn’t appear to be in anything but the mildest discomfort. 

“It’s just numb at the moment,” he said glumly, pouting slightly. “Can I have my book?”

Misaki handed over the novel he’d brought to entertain an otherwise indisposed Usagi-san and refocused himself on his revision; Akihiko wriggled uncomfortably for a few moments and then opened his book.

They sat in silence for half an hour, until Misaki went to fetch himself a drink. When he came back, sipping his soda, Akihiko gave him a pitiful look until he offered the can over. 

“How am I going to drink that?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes coyly. Misaki resisted the urge to pour the fizzy drink over the pretty face, and told the idiot to sit up. “But I’m not allowed to sit up…”

“This is not my problem!” he snapped, glancing back at the curtains. “I’ll get a straw?”

“You could feed me…” purred Akihiko, setting his book down on his chest and crossing his hand over his breast like he’d been laid out for burial. “I can feel myself drying out as we speak, turning to dust and sand…” He gave a feeble little cough, like his throat was made of sandpaper. 

Misaki growled, glanced at the curtains again and took a swig of his drink. He didn’t swallow, grimacing as the bubbles tickled his mouth and sinuses and leant over Akihiko’s prone form. It was tricky to exchange the fluid without spilling it everywhere, especially since Usagi-san was much more intent on simply kissing him, complete with plenty of tongue. When they drew back, the sheets were liberally dribbled with cola and Akihiko looked innocently sticky and naughtily pleased. 

When the nurse stuck her head around the curtain a while later, the patient was still lying flat on his back and reading a book with a certain amount of focus. The patient’s friend was also focusing on his notes with that strange intentness that told of a distraction seconds beforehand. She checked the patient over quickly, asked a few routine questions and then left the two of them to be distracted again.

* * *

The two hours went slowly, but eventually Misaki was able to help a suddenly very stiff Akihiko out of the bed and replace his shoes. He even had to wheel the boy out of the ward and the hospital in a wheelchair, which went down like a lead balloon. Akihiko trailed his toes along the slippy laminated floor, creating an aggravating friction for Misaki to fight against. Eventually he paused in an empty corridor and threatened to turf Akihiko out unless he behaved. 

“Feet on the plates or I take you back to the ward,” he said. Akihiko immediately drew his toes back up and clasped his hands in his lap, sitting up primly straight and pretty. Several bystanders on their travels to the front door paused in their tracks to stare at the lovely little blond lounging in the wheelchair, being driven about by a handsome and very irritated looking brunette. Outside the front door, Misaki shoved the wheelchair – complete with passenger – into a corner and went to find a taxi.

* * *

At home, Akihiko installed himself on the sofa with a glass of water and his book. Misaki fluffed about for a bit and then stole the last seat on the sofa which Akihiko’s feet didn’t quite reach now. With a slow purr and an almost absent stretch, Usagi-san shifted himself down a touch and slid his feet onto Misaki’s lap. 

“Off.” Misaki shoved the feet away from him and back onto the floor. Akihiko gave a little sigh and seemed to behave himself for a moment, until his toes started to creep back up Misaki’s thigh. “No! I don’t want your feet on my lap!”

“But I’m an invalid,” sighed Akihiko, rolling a hand around to rub his spine and grimace slightly. “Poor little me…”

Misaki gave him a Look, disbelief coursing through his veins. An invalid? A chancer more like! “Get off me.”

“But Misaki…” he whined, wiggling a little further down the sofa, driving his toes into Misaki’s inner thigh. 

“You have to promise to shut up for a while!” said Misaki, levering bony toes out of his thighs and placing them heel down on his lap instead. “Sit still and do something useful with your time.”

Usagi-san obeyed reluctantly.

* * *

Finally, the effort of staying quiet and attempting not to molest Misaki too much began to tell on Usagi-san’s patience, and he got up to fetch himself a mug of coffee. 

“Are you supposed to be drinking that?” asked Misaki without looking up from his notes. 

“One mug won’t kill me.” He sat down and grimaced as he sipped at the tarry black liquid. “Did you buy different coffee?”

“Same stuff as always. Some of us pay attention when we’re shopping.”

Akihiko grumbled but slurped his coffee again. “Sure…” After a couple more sips, he frowned again and set the mug on the table, leaning forward so his shirt rode up and displayed a few inches of his knobbly spine. Misaki could just see the edge of a plaster – with a silly cartoon pattern, of course - and reached out to touch the pale skin just below, still stained faintly yellow from the iodine wipes. The touch made Akihiko jolt slightly and slip off the edge of the sofa cushion, depositing himself on the floor with a thud and huff of breath. 

Misaki blinked stupidly down at the boy for a few seconds, and then leapt headlong into panic. “Oh no! Are you all right? I’m sorry, I should have been more careful! Is your back all right? Maybe you shouldn’t move –“

“Misaki, I’m fine!” Akihiko tilted his head back and smiled, big blue eyes crinkling delicately around the corners. “Calm yourself.”

Misaki scowled and slapped the back of his lover’s head in frustration. “I thought you were hurt!”

“You pushed me off the sofa.”

“I didn’t push you!” Misaki flopped back and sulked. “I should have though.”

Akihiko rolled his eyes and leant against the sofa. “Shall I just loll here on the floor, or are you going to help me?”

Misaki didn’t reply, merely fluffing up his previously abandoned notes and focusing on them instead. He could hear Akihiko shuffle and shift about on the floor and then growled to himself as the warm weight of someone’s body settled in between his knees, the weight of a head resting on his thigh. He lowered the papers slightly, just enough to see the top of Akihiko’s mop of hair contrasting sharply with the dark denim of his jeans. Usagi-san had relaxed cheerfully on the floor, propping his book on his own leg and using Misaki as a cushion. The brunette glared at the swirl of darkened blonde around the crown of the boy’s head for a moment, and then raised his notes again. 

His glare seemed to have had no effect on Akihiko’ s reading, but Usagi-san’s close presence had an effect on his own ability to concentrate. The words slid in and out of focus, his knee and thigh warmed by the pressure of Akihiko’s body, sneaky fingers looped around Misaki’s slender ankle. 

Finally, the temptation of that silvery blonde hair was too much and Misaki reached out and tangled his fingers in the silky locks. His nails scratched lightly at the scalp and Akihiko murred with pleasurable delight, wriggling slowly, pushing his head up against the touch. His bare toes scrunched up against the floor, nails scratching against the hardwood and joints popping audibly. 

“Ahh!” Akihiko closed his eyes and tipped his head back; Misaki couldn’t help but notice how his blonde eyelashes trembled against high cheekbones, and his mouth fell open and slack. “Mmmf…” The noises were going straight to Misaki’s rather battered libido, washing over his ears like the best music. He reckoned he should probably stop now, instead of risking igniting Akihiko’s fires as well, but the feel of slick, fine hair between his fingers drove his hand on like it had a mind of his own. Akihiko continued to wriggle and writhe and whimper, turning his head this way and that to get the full benefit of the touch. Misaki scraped his hand up from the nape of his neck to the edge of his forehead and smiled as Akihiko properly moaned in heedless pleasure, eyes opening wide when Misaki’s hand dropped away. “Wha’?”

“Time for dinner!” exclaimed Misaki, trying to escape hurriedly but failing as Akihiko attached himself to his knee and held on tightly. 

“Where are you going? Stay a bit longer…” His voice was dropping into a husky tone that boded badly for Misaki’s attempts at celibacy. Usagi-san definitely didn’t care that he’d just had some vital fluid removed from his spine and should be taking it easy for a day at the very least. 

“You need fed,” said Misaki firmly, “I don’t need you starving to death. You should get your strength up after all, you did have a big hospital procedure. You must be hungry!”

“Hungry for something other than food now…” Akihiko whimpered, tucking his face against Misaki’s bony knee. 

“Not a chance, invalid,” said Misaki, freeing himself from the limpet grip on his lower leg. “You’re getting an omelette by the way. With extra green peppers.”

* * *

The omelette was so liberally dosed with green peppers, in fact, Misaki had felt bad enough to provide some extra food to go with it, so that Akihiko really wouldn’t starve to death if he refused to eat the main dish. As a result they ran out of food, and Misaki found himself unable to leave the penthouse to get more because Akihiko had draped himself around his neck and refused to move. They spent the rest of the night on the sofa, watching television, and went to bed early. 

Misaki actually managed to get to his classes the next day, and found himself, rather depressingly, missing Akihiko. They had spent so much time in each other’s company recently it felt unnatural not to be able to turn around and find the blonde boy standing nearby, looking pale and interesting. Not even Kamijou the Devil picking on a student that wasn’t him cheered Misaki up in the slightest, and when class was over he nearly ran home. 

Akihiko was lounging belly down on the sofa, tapping industriously on his laptop, when Misaki burst through the door, paused, went bright red and crumpled with the realisation that he had missed this irritating pest of a man. 

“What epiphany has struck you down this time?” asked Akihiko, levering himself up on his elbows so he could peer at the heap of Misaki by the front door. “Or is there a genuine emergency?”

“The thought of you on your own all day gave me chills,” said Misaki, meaning it in two different ways at once. “I mean if you can create so much havoc when you were a grown man, I didn’t want to think what you could do as a child.”

“I am not-“ started Akihiko in a distinctly petulant voice, before his internal censor kicked in and clamped down hard on the rest of the sentence. He huffed anyway and flopped back down to type on, while Misaki picked himself up and wandered off to catalogue the supplies in the cupboards.

* * *

The streets were chilly, a brisk wind angled down the streets and biting into all exposed skin and ruffling hair into interesting styles. Misaki had wrapped himself up in the thickest coat he owned and pulled a bear-eared hat over his head; beside him Akihiko was bundled in various layers of clothing he had borrowed from his lover, one of his many white, fluffy scarves wound around his neck and mouth, so that all anyone could see of him was a crest of windswept blond hair and a pair of curiously bright eyes peeking over the edge of the fuzz. 

Despite the cold, there were plenty of people out in the streets, and so they had to nip through the crowds. It was proving difficult to move around with this new Akihiko in tow, because Misaki could no longer use him as a sort of battering ram to shift people out of the way. Instead he had to sort of cling to Akihiko’s wrist and drag him along after him, darting through the people like a small fish amid a bigger shoal. 

Akihiko refused to stay outside and behave himself when they reached the shop, and followed Misaki in like a faithful puppy. While Misaki picked up useful groceries, Akihiko amused himself wandering up and down the aisles, poking various fruits and examining cans like someone who had just be let out of an asylum, and then proceeded to make a nuisance of himself trying to help packing the groceries into bags. It was a struggle to carry the purchases away, since Akihiko couldn’t be employed as a packhorse anymore, but they divided the bags up evenly and staggered out into the cold. 

“I really wish you’d let me drive my car,” said Akihiko as a gust of wind threatened to unravel his scarf. 

“Not a chance,” said Misaki, hefting an armful of bags higher in an effort to prevent them all resting on his wrist and yanking his hand off. While he was doing this, Akihiko snaffled a couple of bags from him and scurried further ahead to rebalance his load. “Usagi-san! Give that back!”

Akihiko laughed, the sound muffled by his scarf, and tottered off. Misaki glared after him for a second and then staggered into the streams of crowds as well. Unable to cling to each other, it was harder to keep a track of exactly where Usagi-san was, so Misaki had to follow the occasional glimpses of blonde hair and white scarf. Eventually he caught sight of the blonde and white at the side of the street, under a pair of trees, and plunged out of the river of people like a seal jumping onto an iceberg, but with more shopping bags. He dropped the bags – most of them landing on his toes – and stretched out his shoulders. This meant that when he recognised the man who was standing in front of Akihiko, laughing hysterically, he was frozen in an odd position with his arms out spread like he was expecting to be summoned into heaven at any second. 

Which was apparently a possibility the way things were going at the moment, because the hysterically laughing man was Kamijou the Devil, absolutely crowing with hilarity. Usagi-san looked less pleased, with a mulish look on his face and one of his feet tapping irritably amid his jettisoned shopping bags. The man beside Kamijou was that tall guy, that one that Misaki kept running into and marvelling at – and maybe entertaining a few guilty thoughts about the handsomeness of as well – and he looked confused, just as Misaki felt himself.

After a particularly long and loud set of cackles, Usagi-san’s temper visibly snapped. His arms crossed over his chest, which swelled in an attempt to look scary and primal but only drew more attention to the size difference. 

“Remind me exactly why I’m friends with you, Hiroki,” he growled, nose wrinkling up in a very 

Kamijou managed to silence his giggles long enough to snap back, “Because I was the unlucky bastard who lived across the road from you.” But as soon as looked back at Akihiko, his shoulders started to shake again and he started to make the little hissing noise of someone breathing heavily through their teeth in an attempt to control themselves. “So,” he stuttered, “How long have you been so… tiny?”

With a dark look on his pretty face, Akihiko said, “A few days now.”

“Hiro-san..?” The tall man inched closer and glanced from Kamijou to Usagi-san, recognition starting to dawn on his face. “Is this..?”

“Akihiko, in a new and adorable shape? Yes it is indeed!” Kamijou struggled to control himself for a moment longer and then broke down again, clinging one-handed to the taller man’s shoulder to support himself. 

“You have the Russian Syndrome, Usami-san?” The tall man inched forward again, curiosity tinging his gaze. 

“No, I’ve just shrunk,” snapped Akihiko, still glowering at Hiroki. 

The tall man blinked mildly, the expression of someone used to dealing with petulance on his face, and continued, “Do you know which strain you have?”

“The chronic one.” Akihiko finally looked away from Hiroki’s hysterics and gave the tall man the full force of his glare. Misaki was quite impressed that the man still didn’t shy away, since Akihiko’s glare was un-diluted by the new size of his eyes. 

“Oh dear.” There was a certain lack of sympathy in his tone, and Misaki crept a bit closer, his Akihiko-protection instincts bobbing to the surface. Kamijou the Devil was now just chortling to himself, fumbling in his pockets for something, and Misaki took advantage of his distraction to grab Akihiko’s shoulder and remind him they had frozen goods to get home, not that he wanted to distract him from his friends or be rude or anything, but they had better get a move on because they were both small now and it would be wasteful to let so much food thaw. The tall man eyed him, a certain amount of creepy intelligence in his soft, dark blue eyes, and then gave him a winning smile. Kamijou’s attention shot up from his pockets immediately, just as Akihiko’s glare darkened further yet, and Misaki wished he could sink through the paving slabs right then. “I know you, right? From the florists?”

“Ah ha, yeah…” he replied nervously, wishing fervently for something to interrupt the conversation – a phone call, someone asking directions, a meteor strike, anything!

“That was a long time ago,” said the tall man, smiling happily, “I only work there occasionally now. Did your girlfriend like those roses?”

“Girlfriend?” echoed Akihiko, in a snide tone that made Misaki want to punch him hard in the teeth. “You don’t have a girl-“

“Shut up, sensei!” he barked, tugging on one trailing end of Akihiko’s scarf as if to throttle him, pulling it down from over his mouth. 

“But you gave tho-“

“No!” he snapped, suddenly acutely aware that the tall man looked disappointed for some reason, like a parent being introduced to a boyfriend with several piercings, a motorbike and nebulous career plans in the shape of a band and some drug-dealing on the side. Kamijou had merely raised one fine eyebrow at Akihiko, lips pursed tightly. 

“What?” snapped Usagi-san. 

Kamijou huffed and returned to pawing through his pockets. “Like you would listen if I told you.”

“It’s because you never stop telling me things.” As Kamijou crowed with delight and brought his phone out of his pocket like he had discovered a diamond, Usagi-san made a horrified face. “Oh no. Not a chance.”

“You owe me.”

“How?! Why!?” Akihiko recoiled like someone had waved a poisonous snake in front of his face. “Keep that thing away from me.”

Kamijou smiled unpleasantly and squared his phone’s camera on Akihiko anyway. “Smile, blondie.”

As the camera clicked off, the tall man re-focused on Misaki, stepping closer again. “Are you feeling all right? It must be difficult dealing with someone with the syndrome.”

Misaki shrugged, watching curiously as Akihiko let fly with a series of French curses that made the air curdle. “The doctor tested me, so we know I’m immune.” He sighed. “And he’s no more difficult than usual,” he added in a dark undertone; Akihiko shot him a deadly look over his shoulder, just as the shutter fired again. 

“Hiroki!” he barked, voice squawking like the teenager he resembled. Kamijou gave another evil cackle, and slipped his phone away into an unknown pocket. Thwarted, Akihiko gave an unhappy snarl and turned his attentions back on Misaki and the tall man. His eyes narrowed in that specific searching manner that still made him resemble his father, even when he looked so young, and then Misaki felt a shiver go down his spine as a wolfish grin skittered over his face for just as second. “My word, Kusama-kun, you look a bit more tired than usual. Are you finding it warm out here?”

Misaki glanced back in forth in confusion as the tall man stuttered and blinked and did his best to explain he was absolutely fine in every way. However, there were tell-tale shadows under his eyes, faint droplets of sweat along his brow-line, a slight shiver in his hands. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, meeting Kamijou’s suddenly furious gaze. “I am, Hiro-san, it’s not serious.”

Usagi-san bent abruptly, wrenching his load of shopping up. “Come on, Misaki, our frozen goods will thaw,” he sang out blithely, just as Kamijou nearly lunged for the tall man’s collar. “I’ll call you later, Hiroki!”

* * *

The encounter on the streets still made Misaki shudder hours later, long after the chill from the wind had left him. Akihiko on the other had seemed positively warmed to the core, sprawled effortlessly on the sofa and half-watching the television. 

It was after dinner, and Misaki dove into the fridge to soothe himself with a cold beer. Reluctantly, he handed Usagi-san one too, recalling the events two days previously when the boy had badly miscalculated his alcohol tolerance in his smaller body and made himself ill. This time, though, Akihiko sipped the beer once, made a face and abandoned the bottle on the table instead. 

“Tastebuds have changed as well,” he muttered, “It doesn’t taste the same anymore.” 

“More for me!” Misaki crowed. 

And then two hours, and quite a few beers later, the alcohol made its assault on Misaki’s senses, and Usagi-san, ever predatory, was on Misaki’s lap. 

“You’re just a bit tipsy,” he crooned, stroking his fingers through Misaki’s hair. “Maybe we should get you to bed?”

Misaki fixed Akihiko with an emerald stare, and said, very carefully, “You just want to get me into bed.”

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Akihiko, with a fine toss of his head, the very epitome of an arrogant aristocrat. “I am merely concerned for you.”

“No, you just want me in bed so you can do dirty stuff to me!”

“With you, with you,” said Akihiko firmly, “There is a significant difference, probably one the police would like to hear about.”

With a growl, he tried to push Akihiko off, and only succeeded in flailing his legs and knocking the beer bottles off the coffee table. Somehow his hands had settled on Akihiko’s thighs, and the young man atop of him smiled. 

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go to bed.”

* * *

The seme magic involved in getting to the bedroom was much clearer when Misaki observed it through the fog of alcohol. All that was involved was a silken voice purring sweetly in his ear, soft hands coaxing him up and along, and Misaki found himself following like a sailor heading straight for the sirens. And the key to the magical loss of clothes was, simply, Usagi-san was clearly very practiced at getting people’s clothes off. Misaki didn’t want to think about that one too much. 

They end up in much the same position as before, with Misaki sprawled back on the sheets and Akihiko kneeling above him, naked and unashamed. 

“This time,” he said, “You’re going to fuck me.”

Misaki made a sort of squeaking noise and gasped as Akihiko leant forward, bracing his weight on Misaki’s shoulders – he was gratifyingly light, like he had hollow bones – and kissed him firmly. It started off as all their kisses do, with Akihiko firmly in charge, but he backed down and let Misaki plunder his mouth freely. They broke apart and Akihiko fluttered his eyes coyly. “Fuck me,” he breathed into Misaki’s ear, “Please, fuck me, Misaki?”

Misaki could only stare, his body frozen with the shock of the sight above him. Akihiko was straddling his waist, smiling in a strange fashion as he reached behind himself and slid one of his fingers inside himself. 

“Oh!” he groaned, grinding his hips down against Misaki’s arousal. “Mmmf…” His head tipped back, displaying his throat, Adam’s apple jerking up and down as he swallowed. His chest was already heaving, a thin sheen of sweat on his flawless skin, as he stretched himself, and Misaki couldn’t resist touching. The skin was like satin under his shaking palms, fingers twitching nervously as he dragged them over Akihiko’s perky nipples – with that touch, Akihiko gave a desperate little moan and bit hard into his lower lip. “Fu-ck…”

It was such an erotic reaction that Misaki repeated his action immediately, just to hear that cry, see those white fangs drive into tender flesh again. Spurred on, he tweaked the pink nubs, lightly at first and then firmly, pinching and rubbing until Akihiko gasped and croaked, “Stop! Stop or I’ll…” He made a whining noise and panted in a few breaths, chin falling down to rest on his chest as he pushed another finger inside himself. Just out of sheer mischievousness, and a deep urge for revenge, Misaki tweaked both nipples one last time and then flattened his palms over the abused nubs, rubbing them firmly. Akihiko’s mouth dropped open, his eyes widening, and his body stiffened, the muscles in his stomach clenching and relaxing as he fought for control. 

“You’ve gotten far too confident for your own good,” he rasped finally, bringing his hand around and bracing himself on Misaki’s stomach so he could lean down and kiss him slowly. He still tasted smoky and rich, a comforting grown-up flavour that didn’t quite fit with his young image, and Misaki opened his mouth further for more of the taste, reaching up and grabbing a hold of chunks of silky blond hair. 

Maybe it was the teasing and tormenting he’d had to put up with for the past few days, maybe it was the alcohol he’d been plied with or maybe it was the utter prettiness that had been just hovering at his fingertips for too long now, but he was feeling hard done by. So what if he was acting far too confident? If he was going to be on top this time, then surely being far too confident was his job? How he was meant to be on top if he was technically on the bottom right now anyway? Part of him longed to push the blond down and fuck him into the mattress, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. 

Then Akihiko shook his head, gently knocking Misaki’s thought slackened hands from his hair, reached down between them and a slick set of fingers closed over the younger man’s cock, making him yelp and groan as slippy fluid was spread over the heated skin. Akihiko stole one last kiss from Misaki’s gaping mouth, knelt up and positioned himself over his lover carefully. 

The ideas Misaki had about the sensations involved with this had been mostly garnered from Usagi-san’s pervy BL novels, which he had read in fits and starts, unable to read any one at all once with the annoyance and embarrassment that swept over him at seeing such things in print. He had reckoned it probably felt pretty good anyway, since Akihiko had always liked doing it to him, but this..! It was tight, almost painfully so, and velvety walls clamped down around him, muscles shifting rhythmically as Akihiko knelt down further, pushing more of Misaki’s cock into his body. Slim fingers fanned across Misaki’s chest, and nails scraped against his nipples as Akihiko paused and panted for a second; there was a flash of pain on his pretty face, and Misaki whimpered questioningly, not wanting to hurt his lover. He remembered the stretch and burn, and it could be pleasant if your lover knew what he was doing, if he could play the rest of your body until the pleasure was so overwhelming you needed the pain to ground you. His hands shook as he reached out, settling first on lithe thighs, tight muscle under soft skin, and then brushing up and in. When he touched Akihiko’s cock, the boy gave a soft sigh and his body relaxed around Misaki’s cock, sinking down all the way. 

“That’s just right,” he moaned, straightening his back and sliding his hands down Misaki’s chest and stomach, nails scratching the skin lightly. “God!” He laughed, a slightly shrill noise, and licked his lips – it amazed Misaki just how predatory Akihiko still managed to look even when he was filled with someone’s cock. “I forgot how much I liked this!” His eyelids dropped slightly and his smile curved in a dangerous fashion. “You feel so good inside me, Misaki…” he purred, honeyed lust absolutely dripping off his words. 

“Don’t..!” gasped Misaki, not sure if he was embarrassed or afraid it would all end too soon. “Ah!” Akihiko had wriggled his hips, that nasty smug smile still on his face, and the bolt of pleasure had nearly made Misaki come on the spot. “Stop..!”

“You have your cock up my ass and you’re still begging me to stop?” Akihiko gave that little giggle again and eased himself up slightly: Misaki didn’t mean to whine with fear that he might move away and he’d lose that delicious warmth and tightness, but unfortunately for his pride, he did anyway. “Now I know you’re lying to me.” He began to move, slowly at first, as if he was struggling to remember how to do this, and then gaining confidence and speed. 

He had his hands braced on Misaki’s shoulders, fucking himself on Misaki’s cock, head thrown back again in the perfect picture of thoughtless pleasure and lust; hair ruffled and sticking to his skin, sweat trickling down his jaw and throat, dripping down onto Misaki’s stomach, his own cock unattended bar the loose and unsure grip his lover held on it but achingly hard and weeping pearly fluid as he gasped and moaned with utter glee. The noises were what spurred Misaki on – he essayed a cautious little thrust up as Akihiko slid down, and delighted in the little squeak this got him in return, never mind the extra friction about his cock. 

Misaki’s patience wore thin right then. Screw being nervous and embarrassed, he was drunk and horny and that was all the excuses he really needed. As Akihiko continued to fuck himself down, Misaki thrust up, lifting his knees so he could get better purchase on the sheets. Akihiko whimpered and his body tensed abruptly, but Misaki had had an excellent teacher and a sudden craving for a bit of revenge. He stopped moving, hand closing tightly about the base of Akihiko’s cock, and smiled as the blonde boy atop of him whined in frustration, eyes narrowing as he tried to re-group after the sudden stop. 

“You are far too confident,” he slurred, licking his lips again. His pupils were blown huge, Misaki noticed with alarming clarity, swallowing nearly all the light iris and he shaking weakly, a lot of his weight leaning on Misaki’s chest. “Come on, Misaki… Let me come?” The desperation in his voice was a novelty that the brunette enjoyed immensely, thrusting up again into the boy’s tight ass and giving his slender, long cock a firm stroke. Akihiko choked back his cry, his nails digging into Misaki’s collarbones, sticky fluid splattering his lover’s hand and belly as he came. His walls clamped down hard about Misaki’s cock, hips jerking unevenly as his muscles fluttered. Misaki’s own hips kept up a steady pace, fucking the boy throughout and even drawing a few more whimpering cries out of him when his sensitive spot was grazed repeatedly. 

White hot pleasure was burning in Misaki’s belly by this stage, spurring his pace on faster and harder, and when Akihiko lifted the brunette’s come-covered hand to his mouth and sucked on each finger in turn, it was all too much. The sight of those lavender-blue eyes cast up to him like in supplication was like a lightning strike, and all of his nerves caught fire as he reached his completion. He squeezed his eyes closed and panted heavily, body jerking as he heard Akihiko moan in pleased satisfaction; the tremors and spasms felt like they went on forever, like his body was awash with the sparking burn of his orgasm and his brains were all offline. Above him, Akihiko was crooning and cooing softly, whispering comforting and complimentary things, hands drifting over his chest and arms soothingly, but otherwise just letting him drift amid the sensations. 

Gradually, though, the sparkly sensation died down, and Misaki became aware of the sound of his own breathing, the settling creak of the bed beneath them and the utter, crippling embarrassment that he had just fucked someone. Reluctantly he opened his eyes again, met Akihiko’s gaze and the shame flitted away just like that. Akihiko was trembling, eyes soft and exhausted, whole body drooping like he was utterly fucked-out, but he was smiling. It wasn’t the nasty, smug smile of someone who knew they were in charge, but the mellow smile of someone contented and loved. A wave of uncontrolled protectiveness surged up inside Misaki, filling the hollow left by his orgasm, and he found himself smiling back. He raised his hands, running them up Akihiko’s thighs, over his hip bones and settling on his waist to help support him as he knelt up and rolled over to the side, separating them with a tiny sigh. The blond eased himself into the sheets, eyelids fluttering down almost immediately; Misaki rolled over too, finding a dry patch on the bedclothes, and nuzzling close to Akihiko’s body, slinging an arm over his thin waist and sliding his legs against Akihiko’s. They were both sore and sweaty and sticky, and the sheets were in no better condition, and there was both a massive shower and an underappreciated bath-tub just dying to be used next door, but just then Misaki could not bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ….ahem…. I did enjoy writing that, just as I predicted. Next time! – more sexytiems, a discussion about nymphomania, working, and a whole shit load of cameos. Could drama be on the horizon? Of course.


	9. Chapter 9

How did no one know? Misaki glanced about, up and down the train carriage, and then stared back down at his feet. It felt like someone had written it on his forehead – he had fucked his lover last night, fucked him until he was shaking and exhausted and his whole body still ached with the effort. He hadn’t realised how much effort went into topping someone, his back and legs were tight, muscles taut, his hips stiff. On the other hand, when Akihiko had slunk out of bed this morning, he had been no more grumpy than every other morning – right up until the point where he discovered that his new body didn’t appreciate the taste of coffee as much as his adult form had – , appearing to suffer no ill effects from their activities. 

Misaki swallowed sharply as he remember just how utterly fucked-out Akihiko had looked when they had stumbled into the shower after their nap. He had barely been awake, eyes half closed the whole time, whinging about being made to get up when he had been so happily sleeping. While Misaki had scrubbed his chest and belly clean, leaning down to focus on washing off his legs, Akihiko had flopped against the glass partition wall to snooze, sliding gradually down onto his knees so that when Misaki turned around to persuade him into the spray he thought the other man had slipped off silently while he wasn’t paying attention. In the end he’d had to haul Akihiko fully into the shower spray and hand him the soap so he could clean himself off while still collapsed on the floor. 

The blush that scoured Misaki’s cheeks was luminous; he could remember with exact detail the curve of Akihiko’s ass, as the boy sprawled, naked and still damp, on the bed. He could still see the little puddles of water in the dip of the boy’s back, further droplets running down alabaster skin to pool with them. He remembered the urge to lick a path down Akihiko’s spine and lap the water away, and how he had had to swaddle himself in the sheets to rid himself of the temptation. Hurriedly, he looked about the carriage again, to insure no one had seen him drift off into his reverie – he was sure someone would notice, and then they were bound to know what he’d done. 

“Shi-it…” he whined to himself, cupping his head in his hands. Occasionally, he’d had silly little daydreams about laying out a pretty version of Akihiko and dirtying him repeatedly, but now that this had actually happened he couldn’t get the thought of his head. He didn’t want to be the filthy minded person, unable to get sex off his mind – that was Usagi-san’s job after all – but that appeared to be what had happened anyway. 

The train lurched to a halt at his stop and he half-tottered off the carriage, drawing worried looks from some of his fellow passengers. He couldn’t bring himself to care though; his other troubles were occupying the rest of his brain so fully there was no space left to be embarrassed about his current behaviour. There were a couple of literature lectures to sit through and an essay to hand in under the terrifying gaze of Kamijou. Misaki wasn’t looking forward to meeting him again in close quarters.

* * *

Strangely, the Devil wasn’t teaching today and Misaki handed his essay in under the more cheery gaze of Miyagi-sensei, who had nevertheless freaked him out intensely by winking at him in a suggestive manner. Misaki had only just managed to restrain himself from fleeing madly, although his walk out had been slightly wobbly. Evidently someone did know – why it had to be Miyagi-sensei Misaki wasn’t entirely sure, but at least it hadn’t been Kamijou-sensei. 

With his university work done for the day, he headed out onto the campus grounds and made a beeline for the gates. He was heading for the subway, mindlessly searching for his phone in his pockets so he could read the numerous texts he had felt it vibrate with during his lectures, when he spotted a familiar fair head amongst a crowd of brunettes.

* * *

Sumi looked fresh and smiley – his clothes seemed looser on his frame than normal, his hair ruffled and longer than usual. He spotted Misaki’s surprised face quickly and waved cheerily at him, paused to excuse himself from the people he had been chatting with and then wandered over. 

“I thought you weren’t going to be up and about for a couple weeks?” Misaki asked after they had greeted each other. 

“I’m not really meant to be out at the moment,” laughed Sumi, throwing an arm around Misaki’s shoulders. “I was feeling so much better the other day, that I decided I’d had enough lounging about to do me.”

“Was it the flu?” Misaki paused in trying to free himself from the older man’s grip. 

“Something viral anyway…” Sumi gave Misaki another squeeze and then let him go. “How are you? How’s Usami-san?”

Tension immediately locked down over Misaki and he laughed nervously, a thin, shrill noise. “We’re both fine!” He rubbed his hand through his hair and grinned. “Perfectly normal!”

“You sound worried…” Sumi leant over and peered into Misaki’s face. “Are you su-ure? You seem different…”

“We’re fine,” said Misaki again, managing to make his voice almost seem normal this time. 

The older man shrugged and nodded. “Fair enough. We still on for next week?”

“Yes,” breathed Misaki, relief scouring his throat. “That’s still great.”

“Good job! I’ll see you then.” He nodded back to the people he had left. “I’ve to show some friends around the campus. Unless you want to join us? Would Usami-san mind?”

Terribly, thought Misaki, he would be livid and completely and delightfully unable to do anything about it now that he was tiny and adorable. He said, “Sorry, I’ve got to get to work,” instead, which was true if much less fun. Sumi shrugged again and they parted ways. Misaki waited until he had turned the corner onto the street before he let himself shudder. 

He did like Sumi, but, damn, the man was creepy.

* * *

Kobayashi-san was huddled up at her desk, working ferociously on a manuscript, when Misaki arrived. He eased into his chair and peered at the pile of papers on his desk.

"This is all mine?" He asked faintly, leafing through the top layers.

"Afraid so." Kobayashi-san looked up from her work only briefly, face already starting to show the lines and shadows of an editor approaching her breaking point. "That's what happens when you take unplanned time off."

"Ugh..." He heaved half of the pile down onto his desk and read the top page. It was all a lot of data entry and mindless calculations for the printing and sales departments, with the occasional email or letter to be drafted and sent off. He cracked his knuckles, one at a time and making Kobayashi-san shiver in displeasure. Time to get to work...

* * *

An hour later, he had sent off any number of emails, completed three spread sheets and generally burned his retinas out reading from his computer screen. He picked up his new pile of outgoing document and traipsed off into the corridor to deliver them as needed.

On his way back, pausing in the shoujo department to leave off an announcement about their new successful manga and having to run away from the all-pervading aura of gloom, he passed outside the conference on his floor while a meeting was disbanding. He dithered for a moment about entering the crowd of be suited executives, feeling very out of place, and then spotted a very droopy looking Isaka-san on the peripheries, turned and nearly ran. He bolted to the nearest lift and hammered his palm into the floor numbers; he would walk across the floor above and come down the stairs on the other side. That was far easier than ever having to talk to the man. 

A few of the executives piled into the lift as well, forcing Misaki into the farthest corner and preventing him from getting out on the floor he intended to escape onto. As they filtered off to various other levels, Misaki gradually began to relax until he realised, with a dull sneaking sensation, that one of the two last men in the lift with him was none other than Isaka-san. 

When the other man, a tall, hulking man with a permanent scowl, got off, Misaki attempted to sneak past and flee. He managed to make it into the hallway, when than creeping feeling came on him again and he looked back to see the president of the company following him. 

Isaka-san looked exceptionally droopy indeed today and the lack of his secretary hovering nearby made him look exceptionably lonely; Misaki’s heart gave a pained pang at the sight, feeling stupid about it almost immediately when the man spotted him and his whole face lit up. 

“Chibi-tan!” he exclaimed, sweeping up and ruffling Misaki’s hair with a rough hand. “I haven’t see you in an age! How are you? Earning your keep in my company? Keeping that bastard of an author sweet?”

Misaki grumbled something about being fine and that Usagi-san was just as good as ever, and that he should certainly be getting on his way right now. 

“Now, now, no rushing away.” He slung his arm around Misaki’s shoulder in a far too companionable manner. “Stay and chat a while.”

“Umm…” Misaki glanced around desperately for an escape; someone he recognised perhaps, or maybe just a fire alarm he could break. “I should really…”

“Aikawa mentioned that Akihiko was taking his sweet time with this new manuscript of his.” Isaki leaned in conspiratorially and said, “When you next see him, tell Aki-chan that I’ll be a-visiting unless he gets a move on.”

Misaki, still longing for an escape route, answered absently and without thinking. “He’d go insane if you called him Aki-chan… He hates looking that age an-y-way… ” His brain caught up with his mouth a few seconds too late and a look at the older man’s face confirmed that while Misaki hadn’t been on the ball, Isaka-san sure as hell was. “Oh…”

“What was that?” hummed the man, leaning a little heavier on Misaki’s shoulders, a strange expression on his face. 

“Oh nothing!” Misaki sang, wrenching himself away and glancing about for the best route. “I should really, definitely be going now; I’m so late and I’ve so many things to do, and I don’t want to delay anyone and-“

Isaka shoved him back against the wall, his hands slamming either side of the shorter man’s head. Misaki cowered instinctively, squeezing his eyes closed and biting hard on his lips; hje was used to being in this position with Usagi-san, but this was intensely uncomfortable. 

“What did you say?” said Isaka slowly, his voice strained. 

“I was just being silly,” Misaki bleated, “Honestly, it’s nothing. Aikawa-san would have told you if anything was wrong!” He hated himself for bringing the editor into his mess, but his tongue was on the run again and he could only just prevent himself from blurting out that Usagi-san had the Russian Syndrome as it was. She would be safe anyway – Usagi-san refused to work with most of the other editors, which was fortunate considering most of the editors refused to work with him by now. “He’s absolutely, definitely normal sized right now. Nothing wrong at all!”

Isaka-san snorted, his breath carrying a sharp sting of alcohol, and slowly moved back, allowing Misaki to crack his eyes open nervously. Up close Misaki could see the frown lines in his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes, the scabbing on his lip where he’d clearly been chewing at it. He rubbed his hands together and spoke slowly, “You’re sure there’s nothing I should be informed about?”

Misaki refused to let himself be drawn into a definitive answer. “Usagi-san doesn’t think so.”

“Sometimes I wonder if he thinks at all…” muttered Isaka. He glanced behind himself and sighed miserably. “Go on then, chibi-tan. Go work or something…”

Misaki fled all too gratefully.

* * *

Kobayashi-san handed him a slip of paper as he dashed past to the sanctity of his desk. He nearly managed to tuck himself under the wood like someone sheltering from an earthquake, before he realised that he was both safe now and being silly in the presence of another person. 

“Nice work getting through that pile,” said the woman, nodding with comradely satisfaction. There was a towering heap on her own desk, which was being studiously ignored and had only grown in all the time Misaki had been working in this office – it was well known that if you wanted something to ‘go missing’, you sent it to Kobayashi-san’s inbox and then it would vanish without trace whenever the cleaners got sick of file avalanches while they dusted. “Aikawa-san popped by while you were off; left a message and said she’d come round for Usami-san’s latest draft in the evening.” 

Misaki thanked the woman and started to stuff his belongings back into his bag. There were a few other things he could be getting on with, but the encounter with Isaka-san was weighing heavily on his mind and he missed his stupid rabbit. 

“What’s living with Usami-san like?” asked Kobayashi-san absently, running a finger down her pile of paperwork with a wistful expression. 

At home, Misaki thought, there was a thirty-three year old man who looked like a fifteen year old boy waiting for him. Right now, he would either be reading, consuming a book almost hungrily, or writing until his fingers stiffened painfully. Later on, after putting away more than his fair share of food for a man who stayed impossibly lithe and strong, he would almost certainly do his best to lure Misaki into some sort of perverted situation and he would probably succeed… 

Misaki shouldered his bag and said, “Really weird, Kobayashi-san: just plain strange. Do your best with the paperwork!”

The woman groaned and dropped her head to her desktop like someone had just shot her. “You’re a cruel, cruel man, Takahashi-kun!”

It was a bad thing, Misaki decided, that he had gotten so good at ignoring drama. Probably a sign his home life could be a bit more sane… 

The doorbell went, and Misaki unlocked the front door without checking to see who it was – he was expecting it to be Aikawa-san, come to fetch the manuscript, because Akihiko was lurking upstairs and had been for some while now. After unlocking the inner door, he padded off to finish cleaning the coffee machine out – since Usagi-san had been neglecting his caffeine intake recently, what with his new taste buds, the filters and so forth had solidified completely with lack of use.

He was elbow deep in the carafe, scrubbing it clean with a brush, when the door clunked open and a small bundle of delight scrambled across the floor and hit Misaki about the kneecaps. 

“Uncle!” It was Mahiro, followed closely by Manami and Takahiro. “Uncle Misa! Up!”

“Give him some space, Mahiro,” said Manami, setting her coat and bag down on the sofa. “Hello, Misaki! I hope you don’t mind us coming round?”

“Of course not!” Misaki rinsed his hands off and scooped Mahiro up. “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I’ve been working overtime,” said Takahiro, padding over to scrub his little brother’s hair. “And Mahiro has been driving his mother up the wall. How are you?”

Misaki launched into an explanation of the last few months, right up until he came against the Russian Syndrome, and waking up to find Usagi-san adorable. Instead he dissolved into worried silence and cast his gaze upstairs. Takahiro followed his gaze and asked if his old friend was in. 

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s left today.” He cleared his throat nervously, jogging Mahiro on his hip to soothe himself. “He should be here.” As Takahiro went to the bottom of the stairs, Misaki continued, “He’s been a bit sick lately…” He winced as his brother called out for Akihiko to come down, and then winced once more as there was a sharp crash from the study and someone swore in a foreign language. 

“Misaki!” Akihiko’s voice sang out, particularly high-pitched. Manami and Takahiro glanced at Misaki as he set Mahiro down. 

“He’s just… a bit sick…” He laughed nervously. “I’ll check on him now.”

* * *

After fifteen minutes of arguing and prodding, Akihiko finally agreed to going downstairs, although Misaki did have to physically shove him out of the study doorway to get him moving. At the first noise of confused recognition from Takahiro, he nearly flees back into the study but the Usami ability to ignore all sorts of shame and embarrassment kicks in and he strides forward, takes the stairs two at a time and greets his old friend with a cheery hello. 

Misaki reached the balcony in time to see Takahiro tilt his head to the side like a confused puppy, as Manami covered her mouth to prevent something that sounded suspiciously like a squeak of joy escaping. 

“Usagi-chan?” Takahiro’s expression was hugely baffled, mouth hanging open loosely like it was occupying too much of his brain power to hold it closed while he tried to figure this out. It probably didn’t help that Akihiko was wearing some of Misaki’s clothes again – a pair of shorts and the panda t-shirt from before. “I don’t…”

“The Russian Syndrome, darling,” said Manami, her voice quiet and firm. “Usami-san must have it.”

This time Akihiko didn’t respond snappishly, and gave the woman a grateful look for her self-control. “Exactly. I’ve been this size for about a week now.” He glanced up at Misaki and added, “We did mean to call you up and tell you, but, with one thing and another…” His eyes sparkled and Misaki knew exactly what he had meant by ‘another’, the perverted bastard. 

“Well, I…” Takahiro cleared his throat and then nearly leapt on Akihiko’s shoulders, wrapping his friend up in a tight hug. Misaki had to hide his face in his hands to quell his laughter when Takahiro allowed Usagi-san to escape, and the young man tottered a few wobbly steps to the side, looking utterly shaken. “You’re so cute! I remember when we were this age, we’d only just met, huh?” He laughed, while Akihiko made a sort of shocked noise of agreement, clutching onto the stair bannister to stabilise himself. “Those were good days…” 

“Now, now,” said Manami absently, as if she was used to curbing her husband’s reminiscing, smiling sweetly at Usagi-san as he managed to centre himself again. “How are you feeling, Usami-san? It must have been a shock!”

Akihiko gave her a winning smile and said, “It wasn’t pleasant to look into the mirror and find the past staring back at you, no. But I’ve been feeling all right; you feel worse before the change for some reason.”

“I’ve heard that. Do you know what strain? I saw one of the special documentaries on the Syndrome the other day,” she explained as Misaki and Takahiro looked at her curiously. 

“The chronic one.” Akihiko nodded sagely, as she made a quiet noise of dismay. “They’ve done all the tests on me to monitor my condition, and the doctor was very insistent about it not being all that bad.” He met Misaki’s gaze again, knowingly. “I’m not worried.”

“Probably a good plan; worrying only makes things worse sometimes.” Manami looked around and blushed. “Oh dear! Listen to me twitter on while we all stand about!”

“Oh, that’s all right!” piped up Misaki, padding down the stairs. “I’ll make some tea, and everyone can sit down.”

“Misaki-kun, how are you feeling?” Manami followed him into the kitchen, as the other two men settled down on the sofas, chatting amiably as if there wasn’t anything amiss with the situation at all. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” he said, fetching the tea things and having to step over Mahiro as he went to the sink to pour water. “I went to the doctor’s too, and she said I didn’t have the syndrome and wasn’t likely to get it.”

“The show mentioned it was normally Europeans that got it,” said Manami, deftly ignoring her son as he clamoured for a biscuit. She handed Misaki the tea jar and peered thoughtfully back at the living area, watching Akihiko carefully. “How is everything, really?”

Misaki often suspected that Manami had ideas about him and Usagi-san that were probably closer to the mark that he would like to let on, and he knew that she was probably the second smartest person in the room, after Akihiko and his ridiculous ability to learn everything except the most basic life skills. For a terrifying second he was sure she had them figured out, but he decided to take Akihiko’s approach to life in general and just blast his way through, ignoring all obstacles and embarrassment. 

He focused on pouring the tea, concentrating on not letting his hands shake, and said, “It’s all right. I never realised how much I liked being driven places before I banned him from using his car. And the sooner I don’t have to go back to the doctor’s surgery, the better.” He laughed nervously and lifted the tray. “Let’s have some tea now!”

* * *

Takahiro and his little family stayed for what felt like hours, until Akihiko’s normally natural smile around his old friend had faded into the mockery of a grin that always made Misaki feel a little uncomfortable. By the end, Mahiro was thoroughly enamoured with the new Usagi-san as well, mostly because he wasn’t as utterly terrifying as before, insisting that he sit beside him on the sofa so he was in prime staring territory. Not even a glower scared him away, and Misaki had to lure the child away with promises of biscuits to prevent a show-down. 

When they left – Akihiko collapsing down onto the sofa like someone had removed all his bones – it was an intense relief. Misaki did like his brother and all, and they didn’t get to see each other anywhere near enough, but when he was trying to hide his illicit deeds from the man, his presence got a bit wearing. 

“That was interesting!” Misaki said brightly. Off Akihiko’s un-amused look, he let himself deflate and rested his head on the door. “Also, really stressful… At least Mahiro likes you now!”

“Joy,” said Akihiko in a deeply sardonic tone. “Once again, my amazing ability to be blond and pretty comes to the fore.”

“One of these days you’ll poison yourself with sarcasm. Move over,” he said, easing down over the arm of the sofa and holding himself steady with a great strain on his arms, hoping that Akihiko would hurry up and get out of the way. Irritatingly, and just like the man as well, the blond just spread himself out more, stretching like a cat reaching for a sun spot. Misaki quickly spotted where the hands were going and delivered a quick slap to both exploratory paws before they reached his ass. “Move.”

“I need comforting! It’s been a long, long night.” The boy purred, reaching out again and getting another slap. “Mi-sa-ki..?”

“Don’t make me push you around,” he snapped, giving Akihiko a sharp push anyway and shoving him into a surprisingly heavy heap at the other end of the sofa.

“What, like you pushed me down last night?” Akihiko raised a sharp eyebrow, baring a sharp set of teeth. “Since I recall it being me that did a lot of the pushing…” He sat up and blew gently into Misaki’s ear. “As it were.”

Misaki’s blush could have lit up the room. “I could totally push you down!” he barked, shoving Akihiko away again and grabbing the remote. “If I wanted to. But not now. There’s something I want to watch.”

"Ha." Akihiko snorted and smiled shortly to himself like he had just thought up a great joke, but he stayed quiet, huddling up and obediently keeping himself to himself. 

Misaki pursed his lips and tried to focus on his show, but the closeness of the blond beside him made it very hard to do so. The bastard wasn't even trying, which was the worst part; Misaki was grudgingly coming to the conclusion that he was terribly, overwhelmingly, attracted to Usami Akihiko in all his incarnations. By the end of the first half of the show, he was completely and utterly distracted. Akihiko was balled up at the end of the sofa, feet tucked up under his body to keep them warm and picking at his fingernails, thoroughly bored and still painfully delicious. Misaki had never wanted something as much as he had wanted Akihiko at that moment, but he had no idea how to go about getting him except to shuffle closer along the seat and blush conspicuously. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Usagi-san had some sort of specialised ability to tell when Misaki was thinking embarrassing thoughts and he looked across curiously, eyes locking onto the blush immediately and a fang-filled smirk crawling onto his face.

"Whatever is the matter?" He purred, shuffling about a little to further tuck his feet under himself - he looks chilled, Misaki realised, still wearing a pair of his lover's shorts and a shirt on top. The hand that brushes his cheek and slides down his jaw is icy cold even with comparison to the normal nippy temperature of the man's hands. "Mmm, you're nice and warm..." In a silky movement, the boy slides closer until he's almost on Misaki's lap and wraps his arms about the student's neck. When he tucks his head down into the crook of Misaki's neck where it meets his shoulder, his hair tickles Misaki's throat and wafts up a warm scent of lavender, sandalwood and... and tobacco?

Misaki buried his nose in Akihiko's hair and took a hefty sniff, growling when the scent of cigarette smoke came through again. Akihiko glanced up, all butter wouldn't melt, and asked what was wrong.

"You've been smoking!" Misaki snapped, pushing the young man away. He had made Akihiko quit last year, when the man had kept coming down with various diseases time and time again. Ever since, Akihiko had been grumpier but healthier and it irritated Misaki terribly that the man had started again. "You promised you wouldn't! Where the hell have you been keeping them - I've searched all over the place to hunt them out, you sneaky -"

Akihiko blinked and said, "Oh, right. Sorry."

"Where have you been keeping them?!" He snapped.

"I found them in my cupboard." He shrugged, "Sorry, I forgot."

"Forgot..." Misaki sniffed, getting up and twitching his fingers, "Where are they now?"

Akihiko fumbled in his pocket for a moment and produced a pack of cigarettes, handing them over with a mulish expression. "You're worse than my father. At least my grandfather lets me smoke..."

"That's because neither of them was depending on you for a place to live." He opened the packet and started ripping the contents within to shreds, the pungent smell of tobacco rising in thick, choking quantities. "Neither of them had to care for you when you got sick either! No smoking allowed!" He dropped the torn remains of the packet and its contents on the young man's lap, resisting the urge to sprinkle some onto the silvery locks. 

They sat in almost uncomfortable silence after that, until Misaki got up to fetch himself a snack from the kitchen and was almost immediately waylaid by an oversexed teenager. His sandwich was tossed onto the table, beside a quickly moved and messy spread of destroyed cigarettes, and nippy little kisses were being placed up and down his throat. 

“You’re mad! You have a some sort of problem!” Misaki exclaimed trying to back away from his lover’s amorous advances and encourage them at the same time. 

Akihiko licked his lips with his kitten-pink tongue. “My only problem is that you keep resisting me.”

“No, I mean you have some sort of sex addiction!” A word sprang to mind and he exclaimed, “A nymphomaniac! That’s what you are!”

Akihiko chuckled, sultry sweet and smug. “Not quite. One-“ He drew himself even closer to Misaki, purring contentedly. “Nymphomania only applies to women. Satyriasis is the term for men. Two –“ His husky breath rasped against Misaki’s jawline, “It’s a terribly outdated term. The correct term is ‘hypersexuality’ or, indeed, just ‘sex addiction’.” He twitched an eyebrow up in amusement. “I’ve read a lot of reference books, Misaki, and attended any number of therapists – I know all the terms by now. Whether those are applicable is up to you.”

Misaki couldn’t nod any faster without accidentally giving himself whiplash. 

“I think you should take responsibility,” said Akihiko, a coyly innocent look forming on his face. “Since I’m addicted to Misaki after all.”

“Oh no!” Misaki started with alarm, “This is not my fault!”

“But what am I meant to do with myself then? Come on,” Akihiko purred, practically rubbing himself up against Misaki’s front, eyes big and soft. “I thought you were going to push me down? Prove yourself to me…”

It was impossible to resist, and Misaki let Akihiko pull his head down and affix their mouths together. Sneaky, slim fingers nipped down and undid Misaki’s belt buckle with practised ease, reaching in and drifting his fingers through the curls therein. Misaki whimpered into the kiss, opening his mouth further and letting Akihiko slip his tongue in to explore. The taste was thick with tobacco and nicotine, and Misaki nearly gagged with surprise. 

He wrenched his head back and nearly spat with disgust. He had gotten used to Akihiko’s natural taste, and the chemicals on his breath now were nothing less than disgusting. Not even wicked little hands could persuade him otherwise. 

“Misaki?” Akihiko looked up, pouting slightly. 

“I’ve got to… do something… else…” He pushed Akihiko away reluctantly, shivering unhappily when Akihiko’s cool hand was separated from his fading erection. 

The boy visibly deflated, face crumpling. “I thought you wanted…” He lowered his head enough so his fringe hid his eyes. “Never mind…”

As he pulled away, Misaki’s heart almost broke in two with guilt and misery. “No, I just…” He licked his lips and the chemical taste of smoke oozed onto his tongue, killing the last of his erection. “I just don’t like kissing you after you smoke… It doesn’t taste nice anymore…”

For a second Akihiko clearly had to think very hard about what Misaki had just said, to examine it from every angle, which the student used to do his flies up and re-buckle his belt. Finally, when he patted the leather back into the loops of his jeans and looked up, Akihiko was almost smiling again. 

“So you like the taste of my kisses normally?” he asked, hope tinging his voice in a sweetly pathetic manner. Misaki sighed and nodded reluctantly, unable to snap at the man for perverseness while he looked so wretched, sliding down onto the sofa again; Akihiko easing down beside him. “I’m sorry. I honestly forgot about the cigarettes –I found them in the cupboard when I was dressing and I couldn’t resist once I saw them.” He ran his hands through the hair and poked the little pile of abandoned tobacco and cardboard on the table, before adding, “If I brush my teeth..?”

Misaki gave him a Look. 

“Fair enough.” Akihiko rearranged himself on the sofa, draping himself over Misaki’s lap in a comfortable fashion. “Later on?” He winced when Misaki poked him in the forehead. “All right, all right. I get the point.”

* * *

Aikawa was in the office for once the next day, looking deceptively calm. There was a slight wobble to her normally perfect red lipstick, and her shirt was buttoned up wrongly, but Misaki felt that telling her would be a bit unkind, especially because she seemed so delighted to be collected for once. 

“My sister insisted I should try yoga,” she was telling Kobayashi-san, who was nodding along like a potential convert. “She said I was going to blow a blood vessel if I didn’t calm down slightly, but you know how it can be!” She laughed, hysterically, and swivelled on her heels to face Misaki. “So is your good-for-nothing landlord finished his work yet?”

For once Misaki had no idea; Akihiko was spending a lot of his time writing, yes, but he hadn’t quite driven himself into the ground like he normally would finishing a novel. Maybe it was his new body, giving him a burst of teenaged energy, or maybe he was just skiving, but Misaki was quite out of the loop. 

“I think so,” he hazarded, guessing that it would at least make the woman’s day more pleasant. Until she found out it wasn’t exactly true. “I could call him and find out for you?”

Aikawa-san waved a hand and bent to pick up her bag – it was brimming with pages, clipped tightly together, and she struggled to heave it to her shoulder. “I’ll pop round later tonight. Just let him be surprised.” She developed a very evil look briefly. “Let me see what that pretty face looks while he panics.” She said goodbye and tottered into the hallway, before Misaki could recover from his horror and call after her. 

He had wanted to speak about Isaka-san, and his behaviour the previous day. Not to get the man into trouble or anything, but to let someone nice know that the poor bastard was clearly heading off the deep end and maybe they might think about getting Asahina back in to sort him out. Whether or not Asahina was ill or just plain sick of Isaka being a complete and utter berk, Misaki didn’t care, but if he could avoid being pinned to the wall by his employer again he would be content. He had also wanted to beg her to cover for his slip-up. Part of him desperately wanted to think he’d fooled the older man into thinking nothing was wrong with his best-selling author and Misaki had just been spouting nonsense. The chances of that were very slim though, and Misaki knew his luck was nowhere near that good. He was hoping he could rope Aikawa in for damage control purposes, and he’d been avoiding telling Usagi-san his mistake until he could corner the woman and get her on his side. 

Sadly, she was long gone by the time he’d even managed to croak out the first syllable of her name, and he sank lower on his chair. He’d just have to wait until she came round this evening and finished arguing with Usagi-san over why he probably didn’t have his manuscript done on time.

* * *

“Are you still wearing your pyjamas?” Misaki paused in unpacking his bag and watched Akihiko weave down the stairs. “Are you just getting out of bed?! This late in the day?”

“I think I got up earlier,” yawned Akihiko, scrubbing a hand through his hair, ruffling it in all directions. The delicate skin under his eyes was stained the blue-black of someone with a bizarre sleep pattern, and his pale lips were cracked and dry. “But I forgot what I was doing, and since I was in my pyjamas anyway…” 

The pyjamas in question were actually one of Usagi-san’s old shirts, too big and billowing lightly about the slim form, and a pair of Misaki’s pyjama bottoms. They had ducks on, and Misaki wondered if he should worry about the sheer amount of clothing he, a twenty three year old man, possessed with cute animals on. It all conspired to make Akihiko look especially sweet and delicate, and Misaki was very concerned to discover that that was apparently what he liked in a lover. He couldn’t bring himself to even be slightly pissy with all that adorable on display, so he relayed Aikawa’s threatening message, once again avoided mentioning Isaka-san in any way, and tried to get to the upper floor. 

Akihiko got in his way very neatly for someone still so sleep befuddled, smiling wickedly. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, sweetly. 

“Upstairs.” Misaki narrowed his eyes, shifting his weight cautiously in case of a pounce. “Why?”

“You could stay down here with me?” Akihiko squeaked his bare feet against the floor, fluttering his eyelashes in an all too provocative manner. Misaki clenched his teeth and made to push past, forgetting that the blond now weighed far less than what he did and knocking them both to the ground with a thud. Akihiko gave a yelp of pain as his head struck the ground, jarring his teeth together painfully. “Ow!”

Misaki shoved himself up and ran his own hands through Akihiko’s hair, checking quickly for an injuries. His fingers encountered a small knot, testing it nervously but finding no blood or unstable bone, and he sat back, relieved. 

“Don’t worry me like that,” he snapped, slowly becoming aware that he was sitting on his lover’s stomach. Akihiko smiled sharply and lunged upwards, smashing their mouths together; their teeth clacking together nearly as loudly as Akihiko’s head hitting the hardwood. Misaki squeaked in annoyance and shuddered at the sensation. He tried to moan, but an inquisitive tongue slid into his mouth. At the familiar taste leaching into his mouth, Misaki’s body began to react pleasantly, shivers wracking down his spine and his cock hardening. Akihiko’s palm pushed up against the growing bulge in his lover’s jeans and ground his own interest up against Misaki’s ass. 

“Shall we?” 

Misaki wiped his mouth hurriedly and tried to get up and run, failing miserably when Akihiko deployed his limpet skills again and toppled them both straight down onto the floor again, this time with the smug blond perched on top of Misaki. 

“Would you stop doing that?” Misaki barked, trying to push up against Akihiko’s knees until his hands discovered the sensory delights that were the blond’s thighs; the slim muscles were tight with the crouch position Akihiko had wrangled himself into, and the pyjamas themselves were fluffy soft. “Get off.”

“Make me,” Akihiko chuckled, his knees tightening against Misaki’s waist. He had an impressive grip there for someone who weighed so little, and Misaki knew he had little hope of removing him. Instead he propped himself up on his elbows so the hard floor didn’t dig into his shoulder blades, and found Akihiko’s mouth on his again seconds later. The man was insistent tonight, just as ever, and Misaki wasn’t sure which way this was going to go tonight. Misaki was inclined to sit back and let it all happen to him as usual, but, with his hollow-boned lover purposely shifting his soft weight back and forth over Misaki’s cock, the urge to be the one on top again was rising rapidly. 

Nimble fingers were already teasing his t-shirt hem up, tickling his ribs and scratching lightly over his nipples; Misaki groaned into the kiss and struggled up into a sitting position, Akihiko sliding down onto his legs slightly and then maintaining his own position with another clench of his thigh muscles and a strain on his stomach. There was a moment of uncertainty, while Misaki’s t-shirt was hauled up over his head and thrown away carelessly, before he could lower his hands and hold Akihiko stable with fingers spread over his shirt covered back. 

“Manhandling me now?” asked Akihiko, his cool palms sliding over Misaki’s overheated chest and down to his stomach, bypassing his nipples in a very aggravating fashion. The problem with him knowing exactly what Misaki liked was that, when it suited to him to, he could avoid doing it. “Top or bottom?”

“I’m not- You can’t ask things like…” He spluttered ineffectually with rage for a few moments and then gasped when Akihiko bit down lightly on his ear, fingers of one hand popping the button on Misaki’s jeans and sliding inside. Misaki blinked helplessly, hands opening and closing on the fabric of Akihiko’s shirt. Finally some of his senses returned and he muttered, “This…”, tugging on the shirt again. The blond gave him a bright look and quickly whipped the satiny fabric over his head without having to unbutton it. 

“You want to go on top, don’t you?” said Akihiko thoughtfully, running his hands down his own chest and then leaning forward to press their bodies closer together, slick skin against skin. 

“Of course,” said Akihiko, hand returning to play lightly over Misaki’s stomach, fingers lightly teasing the curls above his cock at the end of every down stroke. “The floor is a terribly uncomfortable place to do anything…” He leant in again to kiss Misaki softly and then trailed that devilishly talented mouth down to the throbbing pulse point on his throat. Misaki could only make a sort of garbled noise, struggling not to thrust his hips up into the friction of the boy’s pert ass. The fingers now drifting over his stomach heightened his frustration with the lack of touching, and he snapped a little inside. This new younger form of Akihiko was making that happen to him a lot lately. 

“That’s all right,” mumbled Misaki, thoroughly distracted as the boy nibbled on his jawline. Akihiko giggled at his attentions and lay back onto the floor, back arched neatly, legs open around Misaki’s waist and eyes sultry. “Uhh, lube?”

“In my pocket,” purred Akihiko. “Good to see you taking charge.”

Misaki blushed as he realised just how easily he’d been played , but fumbled for the lube one handed anyway, pulling his jeans all the way down as he did so. Akihiko slipped out of his pyjamas easily, stretching his slender, pale form out on the hardwood. He was just perfect – Misaki’s cock was achingly hard when he finally freed it, ready to plunge into such perfectness. Was this how Usagi-san always felt with him? 

He traced a shaky fingertip down the boy’s slender cock, smiling weakly when Akihiko whimpered and jerked with the touch, running down to gently rub his hole. 

“Ready?” he muttered, pressing the tip of his finger into the pucker. Akihiko gasped and nodded, biting hard into his lip. Misaki couldn’t stand the idea of that pout being ruined with bloody teeth-marks that weren’t his, and so shoved three fingers of his other hand into the boy’s mouth. “S-suck,” he stuttered, acutely aware of what he was doing. 

The young man shut his eyes and set about slurping enthusiastically. Misaki was torn between focusing on this gorgeous sight or concentrating on fingering the boy; his hole was so tight around Misaki’s probing fingers and it made such an obscene slurping noise. By this time his finger was pushing in and out of Akihiko’s body easily, and the boy was writhing helplessly, moaning about the fingers in his mouth. Misaki removed them so he could slide a second, spit-slicked, finger into Akihiko’s hole. The boy cried out this time and arched his back, throwing his head against the floor with a dull clunk. 

“Ohhhh… Misaki! More!”

“Greedy,” said Misaki, voice slightly more confident. But he pulled his fingers out, coated himself with lube and pushed in. “Nhh!” The boy was wet and tight and glorious; Akihiko writhed and wriggled and sobbed weakly, hitching his thighs further apart so Misaki had more room to move. 

“Oh god!” Akihiko opened his legs wide and Misaki gasped in a shaky breath and whimpered as the boy’s heels hooked around the back of his thighs, pulling him in deeper. Big blue eyes has shot open, pupils blown huge, and Misaki could hardly bear to look into them, they were so flooded with pleasure. Just to see if he could add to the sensations, he fumbled down between them and took Akihiko’s cock in hand – the hard length was throbbing almost palpably with the boy’s fluttering pulse, velvety soft skin being wetted by the copious pre-come slicked down his length. Akihiko gave a throaty little cry and arched his hips up into the touch, hands skittering across the floor in a vain attempt to find something to cling to. It was enlightening, Misaki thought as he gave the cock in his hand a clumsy stroke to watch the reaction again, to see the way Usagi-san behaved when he was in either position. 

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” snapped the blond, “Stop it right now.”

“I’m thinking about you, for god’s sake,” Misaki barked back, immediately groaning when he realised what he’d said.

Akihiko smiled, slightly strained and said , “As nice as that is, I’d just rather if you’d fuck me right now.”

Misaki obediently pushed in deeper and pulled back slowly, struggling to set up a rhythm without Akihiko helping him. The slick friction of his lover’s body was just as good as it had been the first time, and he quickly forgot his shame in what he was doing and began to enjoy it, gasping quietly with each movement. He gave Akihiko’s cock another clumsy jerk, sliding his thumb over the head and delighting in the squeak it elicited.

“You’re a fucking tease,” groaned Akihiko, grasping his cock himself and displacing Misaki’s hand in the process. Not that Misaki minded, because it meant he could press his palms to the floor and lean his weight forward into Akihiko’s body. The effort of thrusting was telling on him, his gasps were becoming groans and sweat was dripping down his chest, running off his forehead and plinking onto Akihiko’s heaving chest: the pale boy was also slick with perspiration, eyes flickering at half-mast and teeth driving hard into his lower lip as he concentrated. He hitched his hips a little higher up and his eyes shot open, his walls clamping down around Misaki’s cock. “Fuck! Right there!” His breath gave a hitch, his one free hand clutching at Misaki’s forearm, nails driving into the skin as he came. Misaki shuddered at the hot splash across his belly and the sight of Akihiko writhing in utter pleasure, his own hips jerking uncontrollably. 

“Ah!” The force of his orgasm ripped the cry from him as all his muscles seemed to lock and relax at the same time. He bit down on the inside of his lips to stop himself from crying out further; Akihiko’s hand trailed up his arm and settled comfortably on the back of his neck to pull him down for a long kiss. The taste of salt and iron was thick in Akihiko’s mouth now, but Misaki basked in it for a long moment, because it was all his fault. He had, once again, driven his worldly and experienced lover into a boneless and very satisfied heap. No wonder Usagi-san had liked doing this so much to him. 

Eventually, he shifted away from his lover, ending up sitting cross-legged on the floor a small distance from Akihiko. He wanted contact, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to creep across and tuck himself against the blond’s body of his own accord. With a slightly put-upon sigh, Akihiko eased himself up, wincing slightly as sensitive areas chafed, and shuffled over to lean his head on Misaki’s shoulder. 

“You’ll fuck me, but you won’t cuddle?” he muttered quietly, slinging an arm around Misaki’s waist. 

“You know I wa-“ The words stuck in Misaki’s throat and he lowered his head in another sort of shame: this time it wasn’t that he was entwined with this idiotic man, it was because he couldn’t admit that he had liked it and that Akihiko’s idiocy was well-tempered with moments of kindness. “I wan-…” He clasped his hands to his face, releasing just too late they were still slick with lube. 

Akihiko chuckled quietly and nuzzled closer. “I know.”

Misaki blushed for the umpteenth time that night, but this time it was out of sheer contentment.

* * *

They sat in comfortable silence for a long few minutes until the cold floor began to take an effect. Akihiko was the first to move; he staggered upright, but abruptly stopped and whimpered quietly after only a few steps. 

“Ha!” Misaki straightened up, watching with curious eyes, and pointed accusingly. “I knew you were hiding it!”

“Hiding it?” Akihiko straightened his back, both hands on his hips. “Hiding what?”

“It hurts doesn’t it?” he said, smirking, “See, now you know how I feel when you do… t-that to me!”

The blond looked down at himself, and shrugged, “I already knew, didn’t I?” He stretched out slowly, face twitching slightly as the joints down one leg popped and crunched. “I’m just stiff that’s all.”

“Are you some sort of iron man?” Misaki snapped, blushing when he glanced down at his lover’s cock, soft amid the pale curls. 

“No, I’m just not as weak as you,” said Akihiko, sticking his tongue out and cocking his hip to the side cheekily.

“Bastard!” Misaki growled, leaping at the young man and knocking them both flying – he had forgotten, once again and despite what they had just done minutes beforehand, that Akihiko was smaller now. There was just something about the sheer arrogance of the man that made Misaki’s memory skitter. After a short scuffle, Misaki had his pest pinned to the floor by the wrists, kneeling over him in triumph. “Got you!”

Usagi-san wriggled helplessly for a second and then scowled. “Let me up.” 

“Or what? I can pin you to the floor now, so I think you’ll find I’m in charge!” Misaki gave a cackling laugh and shook the thin wrists in his grip as emphasis. 

Lavender blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You seem to like pinning me to things these days.” He smiled wickedly. “You can’t be wanting to go again? I thought you were fairly satisfied already?” A slim leg drifted up the inside of Misaki’s thigh, one of Akihiko’s own slim thighs pressing firmly to his still sensitive sac. “No?” 

“N-o!” he tried to exclaim, choking on his own breath halfway through. He let go of the man’s wrists and sat back, trying to cover himself up and protect himself from any more groping. Akihiko sat up and rubbed his back, still looking wicked and smug. He rolled forward onto his hands and knees, crawling across the floor until he was breathing hotly in Misaki’s ear. 

“The reason I am stiff,” he said, slowly and silkily, dark honey dripping languidly from every single syllable, “Is because you just fucked me into the floor.” His voice changed abruptly, rising a few tones and tinkling in Misaki’s ears like breaking glass. “The reason I am not sore is because I am more used to being hurt than you are. Let’s keep it that way, hmm?” He pressed a delicate kiss to Misaki’s cheek and stood up. “Shower?”

“Shower,” Misaki agreed, swallowing sharply. “Sounds good.”

* * *

The shower resulted in another coupling, Misaki grabbing hold of his confidence and also Akihiko’s lithe body, and bending him up against the shower wall. Their cries echoed loudly against the cool tile walls, the hiss of the shower drowning out the slipping noise of their bodies as they moved together. The water washed their completion away soon after they reached their peaks and stood panting in each other’s arms, until the steam began to dissipate and the flow started to cool. Misaki scrubbed himself clean quickly, flushed with the residual heat and the embarrassment that he had been the one to initiate it this time, and tried to excuse himself without being noticed. Akihiko, sex-stunned and sleepy eyed, was still too quick for him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before turning back to the shower. 

The younger man changed in a dreamy state, pulling on his comfy, slouching-about-the-house clothes, and went downstairs to tidy up a bit. The floor was unpleasantly sticky, and there was a small puddle of lube where he hadn’t managed to replace the cap on the bottle. He tried to wipe it up with his abandoned t-shirt – he had entertained the idea of using his landlord’s shirt instead, but had quickly decided not to when he had read the collar label and found it to be a very expensive shirt indeed – but had to fetch a basin of warm water, liberally laced with disinfectant, and get to scrubbing. 

Akihiko came down a while later, just as Misaki was emptying the basin into the sink, and leant on the counter lazily, combing his fingers through his damp hair. “So.”

Misaki gifted him a slow look, a talent he had copied off Usagi-san himself and had proven to be useful many times over. “What do you want?”

The smile that came next was pleasant, for once, and honest, throwing Misaki entirely off guard. “Food. It’s dinnertime after all.” He laughed as Misaki turned away, flushing angrily at letting himself being played so fucking easily every single damn time. “I’m not completely obsessed with sex, you know.”

“Yeah, you’re a man of two appetites,” Misaki muttered, the angry red of his cheeks fading to a pleased pink at the sound of Akihiko’s musical laughter, reverberating high against the walls.

* * *

Misaki opened the door again at the buzzer, truly and honestly expecting it to be Aikawa-san this time – she had said she was coming around when they had spoken at work earlier. He returned to his dinner preparations hurriedly: he had oil heating up on the burner and he didn’t want it to catch alight. 

So when the door creaked open and a deep male voice spoke in greeting instead, Misaki was just a touch surprised. The onion he had been slicing received a mortal wound, and he just missed cutting off the tip of his own finger, as Usami Fuyuhiko wandered into the apartment like he had been welcomed in.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter are occurring in parallel to the contents of Chapters 2 to 9.

It was spring and the hospital was filled with flu dosed adults and miserable children with serious respiratory infections. Nowaki loved the idea of spring so much, with the rebirth of flowers and trees after the snows, the multitudes of baby animals and birds and the plethora of sappy holidays, but in practice, he really didn’t like it that much. His idea of hell was a ward of children with pneumonia, and - bar the one kid who’d slipped on some mud, broken his leg and was now refusing to communicate in anyway - his ward was currently that hell. 

“It’s been a bad year for this,” a nurse had said to him, handing over the details of another patient. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Eyes tired, he surveyed the room and nodded. It was only a small ward, normally set aside for isolation purposes, but it was still a shock to the system to have so many children so sick with the same illness at once. Normally when he’d walk into a room, he’d have kids hanging off all his limbs, but all of these children were tired and morose. The mood had even spread to the boy with the broken leg, and he was withdrawn and a shocked grey colour; Nowaki was hoping to get him transferred out to a less glum ward once his blood tests came back. 

“You should take a break,” said the nurse, giving Nowaki a gentle nudge when he didn’t respond. “You look as though you haven’t slept in an age!”

“Oh, I’m fine,” he replied, laughing quietly. “Just thinking.” He tucked the file under his arm and padded off, pausing at the door to scrub his hands with the alcohol solution. The liquid bit into his dry and cracked knuckles fiercely, but he ignored it, shaking them out to dry them thoroughly and taking a seat in the quiet waiting room opposite the ward doors. 

In truth, he was horribly tired, but that came with the territory and the time of year. He had long ago reached the point of exhaustion where he honestly believed there was no way he could get any more tired without simply collapsing in a heap. His bones ached, his muscles felt like lengths of wet rope, his teeth throbbed with any change of temperature, even his hair felt too heavy for his head. Worst of all, he hadn’t been able to spend any time with Hiro-san for the past month; he could barely even remember the last time he’d even had any physical contact with him at all. There was a distant recollection of a grudgingly offered hug a few days back, but waves of pneumonia-sickened children had somewhat blurred the memory. 

Nowaki sighed and gave himself a light slap on the cheek to focus himself. Another couple hours and then he could go home, collapse into bed for a good sleep and then he could pester Hiro-san for at least a day before he had to return to his little idea of hell. The sound of a trolley rolling out of a lift brought him to his feet, but at least he felt he had the strength to carry on for a bit longer now.

* * *

A couple hours had turned into a few, and then the few had turned into enough to make the other doctors start to feel guilty, and then that had turned into enough to make the hospital’s managerial staff feel guilty about begging him for more time. 

To Nowaki’s astonishment, he managed it all. Perhaps he had reached the baseline of exhaustion from which there was no going any further down except in the fully literal collapsing sense? He’d even worked through coffee and lunch breaks; not once had his stomach grumbled for food or his head swam with lack of sugar. When he finally managed to quit his shift, and stepped out into the beginnings of sunrise, he should have been shaking with the chill of exhaustion, but in fact felt so warm he took off his scarf and gloves. 

Getting home seemed to happen in jerky movements, like his mind was tripping on and off, something he put down to sheer exhaustion. He still managed to heave himself up the stairs, failed to get the key into the lock on any of the first five tries, and fell asleep on the floor before the door even shut behind him.

* * *

He woke in bed, stripped of all clothes but his boxers, and the sheets thrown off in a sleep rumpled fashion. There was also a post-it note, fluttering shakily and stuck to his forehead, and he examined it dozily in the gloom of the bedroom. 

It was Hiro-san’s familiar scrawl, tilted to the side with the speed of the writing. ‘Do NOT think of getting out of bed until AT LEAST noon. I WILL know. I’m going to do the laundry in the basket when I get home, so NO touching.’ In a slightly less angry addendum was, ‘There’s leftovers in the fridge for your lunch. Just shove it in the microwave for a couple minutes. K.H.’ If Nowaki squinted, he could make out a very faint and very nearly obliterated shape after the initials – a little heart, perhaps? He tucked the note under his phone on the bedside table, checked the time, and snuggled back down into the pillow for another hour of sleep. 

The second time he woke, in less than the hour he had planned to snooze through, he was sweating horribly, nearly panting with a strange heat. The room was cool on his bare skin, and the sheets were still discarded beside him; it was like he was burning from the inside. He didn’t feel fevered – didn’t have any immediate aches and pains in his bones and joints, his mind felt fluffy with sleep, but otherwise clear. 

Nowaki heaved himself up and padded to the kitchen. He gulped down a glass of cold water, checked what the leftovers were – some sort of soup in a takeaway container – and then went to take a cool shower. Five minutes after he left the soothing, cooling water, shaking slightly, he was unpleasantly warm again. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, and he decided it was probably just because he’d huddled up so comfortably in bed, his limbs trapping the heat between his body and the mattress. 

Despite Hiro-san’s threatening letter, he did the laundry anyway.

* * *

Hiroki stared at the pile of neatly folded shirts and scowled. Beside it Nowaki beamed at him, a pleased puppy of an expression. 

“Do you not understand the written word?” he barked, stiffly grabbing the pile and stomping off to shove it into the wardrobe. “And, incidentally, if you fall asleep on the floor again, I’m leaving you there. I think I sprained my back hauling you into bed last night.”

“I’m sorry, Hiro-san…” Nowaki had followed his lover into the bedroom and now leant down to nuzzle behind Hiroki’s ear, wrapping his long arms around the professor’s trim waist. “But thank you very much. I feel much better now.”

“Ha!” Hiroki wriggled a bit, but didn’t pull away from the hug. Nowaki took his chance and pressed a kiss to the shell of the ear he had been nuzzling moments before. Almost immediately, the skin pinkened and Hiroki huffed again, turning his head slightly, so Nowaki had more access to his neck. He tasted clean when Nowaki nipped the pale skin, like soap, with a delicate patina of old books - that still, slightly musty scent that came from spending too much time among ancient tomes.

“I missed you,” he said truthfully, snuffling up the scent like it was the best perfume. “Whenever I had a moment’s break, all I could think of was you at home. Without me.” He slipped his hands down to tap Hiroki’s belt. “Did you ta-“

“No, idiot!” barked Hiroki. “Because I knew the second I did, you would walk in and catch me!”

“Just as long as you were thinking about me, I would be happy, Hiro-san,” he growled softly, fingers slipping the leather out of the buckle, worrying at the button below. “It would be kind of sexy, actually.”

“Don’t even say it!” gasped Hiroki, as Nowaki slipped one of his hands inside his boxers and palmed his cock. To his eternal shame, he was already achingly hard; he had been from the second Nowaki had nipped at his neck. 

“Mmm.” Nowaki chose to be obedient for once and set about occupying his mouth with something else instead. Hiroki could only yelp as he was thrown onto the bed, his lover pouncing on top of him second later, covering him with that powerful body. Nowaki’s lips were on his in a second, tongue pushing inside his mouth to tease his own, as if trying to learn the inside of Hiroki’s mouth off by heart. The taste of Nowaki, all mint and freshness, hit Hiroki’s buttons nicely and he arched his body up to grind his hips against his lover’s pelvis, rubbing their still-covered erections together firmly. 

“I…” Hiroki stuttered when Nowaki pulled back for a second, so they could breathe, “I need you.” It had been so long since he had even seen the man, and so much close contact all at once had driven his libido into immediate overdrive. He knew coaxing Nowaki on like this was an excellent way of getting pounded mercilessly into the bed, but that was exactly what he wanted right now. 

Nowaki made a strangled noise and pressed their mouths together so firmly Hiroki thought he might suffocate happily like this. The doctor’s long, strong hands wrenched his work trousers halfway down his thighs, neatly trapping his legs in place, and then sliding down the professor’s shaking body to mouth his erection through the soft fabric of his underwear. Hiroki moaned weakly at the warmth teasing over his cock, struggling to remove his shirt and throw it to the side as he did so, and then had to shove his wrist into his mouth to muffle his cry when Nowaki pulled his briefs and trousers off and immediately swallowed much of his length down at once. 

The younger man grumbled something around the thickness in his mouth, and reached up to drag Hiroki’s hand from his mouth, inviting him to tangle his shaking fingers in thick, sable locks. Hiroki clutched compliantly, struggling to prevent himself from pulling strands of hair out or forcing Nowaki’s mouth further down. That marvellous mouth sucked him hard, until he was shuddering helplessly and on the edge of his orgasm, and Nowaki chose that moment to move away, reaching out to fumble in the bedside drawers. 

Hiroki swore at the abrupt loss of sensation, and then squawked as a lube slicked finger abruptly slid into him. The lube was unpleasantly cold for a moment but Nowaki’s measured movements, his dusky blue eyes gauging Hiroki’s reactions hungrily, made the roil in Hiroki’s abdomen tighten into a sharp white orb of pleasure, threatening to overwhelm him. The second finger, and more lube, made Hiroki throw his head back into the sheets and groan loudly. 

“You look so sexy, Hiro-san,” said Nowaki, his voice a deep growl. The chink of the younger man’s belt being removed and the soft slide of his jeans being removed made Hiroki’s head jerk back up like someone had attached a string to his chin. Nowaki grinned down at him, dragging his t-shirt over his head and displaying his whole, magnificent body for Hiroki’s gaping pleasure. “You do like looking at me, don’t you?”

Hiroki opened and closed his mouth like a gasping fish, eyes dragging down from the broad shoulders, over the firm pectorals, ridged abdomen, slim hips and onto that lovely, thick, long cock. Hiroki’s mouth actually watered at the sight of it, proud and erect amid the dark curls, and he reached down to touch his own aching cock as the simmering pleasure in his stomach threatened to boil over again. 

Thankfully, Nowaki decided not to tease his lover any longer; the bed creaked as he coaxed Hiroki up and onto his knees, ink-stained fingers clutching onto the bedhead and Hiroki bowing his chestnut head between his shoulders. More lube was drizzled onto his hole, running down to his balls, where Nowaki reached down and fondled them gently just to hear Hiroki give another groan of pleasure. The younger man arranged himself close to his lover and pressed the head of his cock to the twitching pucker, gasping as he sank in and Hiroki moaned helplessly. 

“You’re so beautiful!” Nowaki managed to gasp, taking a firm hold of slim hips and thrusting in carefully. Hiroki panted quietly for a few minutes and then tossed his head back, flexing his fingers and clenching the muscles deep inside. “Hiro-san!”

Hiroki’s voice was thick and husky, syrupy with lust, and made Nowaki’s self-control twang almost audibly. “Fuck me, Nowaki, fuck me now.”

It was all the invitation Nowaki needed, leaning his weight further forward and pounding into his lover’s body at a hard and fast pace. The bed frame clunked rhythmically against the wall, echoing the slurp and slap of their bodies moving together, and when Nowaki angled his thrusts just right Hiroki’s voice joined the chorus. 

One of Hiroki’s hands disappeared under his body to jerk his own cock desperately, but it was only when Nowaki bowed his body down further to grasp his length as well and whisper sweetly dirty things in the shell of Hiroki’s ear that the professor came, body clenching and relaxing helplessly. Nowaki only managed a few more thrusts, and the inner spasms of Hiroki’s body dragged him into pleasure as well. 

He went limp over Hiroki’s body, panting heavily and unable to support his own weight as Hiroki’s limbs buckled. They ended up in a breathless heap, Hiroki burrowing his face into the pillows and just enjoying the warmth and size of Nowaki’s body atop his own. He didn’t complain that it took the younger man a few minutes to regain enough control to ease himself up and to the side, and then followed him, snuggling into his chest without a word. Nowaki cast a strong arm over Hiroki’s waist and sensibly remained silent. They were far too content together.

* * *

Nowaki returned to work not feeling refreshed at all, but rather even worse than before. He had to keep pausing in his rounds to check his own pulse and, on one occasion, ask a nurse to check his blood pressure. 

Eventually, after the rounds were done and all things that needed sorted urgently were finished, he left his own ward, and trotted down the corridor to the main wards where Tsumori-senpai worked still. The blonde doctor was working hard for once with no one to annoy, bent over a desk as he scribbled something down in someone’s files. Nowaki stopped to glance up and down the ward, smiling slightly as he watched the children pester a nurse who had made the mistake of bringing sweeties out. 

“Can you spare a minute, senpai?” he asked, bending over a computer and checking no new tests had come in yet. Tsumori glanced up from his files and nodded briefly. 

“We can have lunch. Say, in an hour?”

“Sounds good.” He refreshed the page hopefully, found nothing yet again, and headed back down the corridor to his own ward. It was a bit better today – they’d freed up a couple beds, and only one new case had added to his numbers. No one was struggling at the moment either, and it was peaceful in a sort of child-filled manner. The boy with the broken leg – whose blood tests still hadn’t come back – was still glum though, and Nowaki hadn’t noticed any parents or guardians coming in to visit him. Any attempts to chat, or cheer the boy up, went down like an anvil and the nurses were beginning to worry audibly. 

He attempted, now, to start up a conversation as he checked the boy’s notes, but got nowhere. It was all very unfortunate, he thought, as he read back through the first observations. They went back a couple months, when he had been admitted to Nowaki’s previous ward with possible pneumonia. But next to that was a note that indicated he had been released, perfectly healthy, and the very next day had reappeared as if he had never left. 

And when Nowaki thought about it, he didn’t remember this boy. He remember a boy who looked vaguely similar, who had indeed visited with mild pneumonia and then allowed to leave only a week later, under the care of his parents. 

When he looked up from his reading, the boy was watching him intently; his dark eyes were wide and hopeful, and when he spoke, it was in English. Nowaki set down the notes and listened obediently.

* * *

“Really? Wow!” Tsumori leant back in his chair and laughed. “That’s terrible! No one realised?”

“No one at all.” Nowaki sighed and shook his head. “When it happened, he was out on his own and no one saw. So when he showed up in the hospital, with his son’s identity card, they just assumed it was the son.”

“So you’ve had some poor American man sitting in your pneumonia ward for about a month now?” 

“He was very forgiving about it,” said Nowaki, with a horrified blush. The man had been admitted before Nowaki had been put in charge of the ward, so he had accepted the previous doctor’s assertion that this was the boy, but it still made him feel terrible that he hadn’t figured it out earlier. “We’ve called the police and contacted his family. They reported him missing ages ago: and we thought they didn’t care!”

“That Russian Syndrome!” said Tsumori, sipping his coffee. He had already wolfed down two sandwiches and an apple, and was now on his third cup of coffee; Nowaki hadn’t even touched his first sandwich yet. “Crazy shit.”

“Yeah.” Nowaki picked at the salad around his plate and shrugged. “It’s strange. You know the symptoms?”

“Twitchy, anxious feeling, headaches, joint and muscle pains, some nausea and loss of appetite.” Tsumori rattled the list off and then paused to look at Nowaki’s still-full plate. “You’re kidding me…”

“I’ve felt terrible for weeks. Worse than normal. And I just don’t want to eat.” He prodded the sandwich with a finger. “What do you think?”

“Had any fevers?”

“I’m warmer than normal, certainly.”

“And this is since the American was here?”

“Since he was here as an adult, with his son. I was in charge of the son’s case, so I had close contact with the parents.”

“You’re not the right race though…” Tsumori pointed at the sandwich. “Stop poking it, and eat it. Maybe food will make you feel better.”

Through a mouthful of sandwich, Nowaki said, “You don’t need to be fully European, just to have some European ancestors. And since I don’t know my ancestry…”

“I suppose… It is a thought,” said Tsumori, considering his coffee absently. “It might not be anything to do with it, of course, but I suppose you’re better checking.”

Nowaki chewed on his sandwich thoughtfully. “You’re probably right.” He made a face and set the food down. “I’m really not that hungry.”

“Don’t blame you…” muttered Tsumori, getting up with him to clear the table. “Considering there appears to be river sediment at the bottom of this coffee…” He shoved the cup on top of Nowaki’s tray and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on then. I’ll take the bloods for you.”

* * *

The news came the next day, on a miserable little scrap of paper handed to Nowaki by a slightly breathless lab tech. 

“I’ve been running all over the show today!” He said, taking a moment to get his breath back. “Everyone’s doing these damn tests, and no one understands the data, so I get to explain it all.”

Nowaki looks at the paper and grimaces. It seems fairly clear to him; the results are resoundingly positive. 

“The antigen ‘A’ is the acute type, ‘Ch’ is chronic. Should be self-explanatory, but no….” The lab tech shrugged. 

“Says here there’s high levels of both,” Nowaki said miserably. 

“Huh?” The man peered at the scrap of paper and then made a face. “Means chronic type then. Bad luck.” He made to leave, only to pause in the doorway and add, “I hear they’re developing a vaccine though.”

Good for them, thought Nowaki, shoving the note deep into his coat pocket and clapping his hands to his forehead. So many things to do already and now this? Firstly, he’d have to tell his senior that he couldn’t work any longer. It was one thing to be walking around with this syndrome, but completely another thing to be doing it in a hospital. Once he’d told his senior, he’d have to help arrange cover for his ward, and then, eventually, he could go home and tell Hiro-san. That would probably be the worst bit of all.

* * *

His senior, Dr. Maeda, was a terrifying woman with a beak of a nose and a permanent scowl. Nevertheless Nowaki rather liked her – she was determined and intelligent, a good doctor if lacking a pleasant bedside manner – and she seemed to like him in return. She had certainly been happy enough to trust him with the pneumonia ward, and now she seemed distinctly worried over his news. 

“Of course, you did the right thing telling me,” she said, folding up the blood results paper and passing it back across her desk. “And good job, realising it. But it is very unfortunate, since you do have to take sick leave.”

“I know,” he said, “But…”

“But?” She echoed. 

“If there was anything I could do to help? Something I could do from home - paperwork or something? I don’t want to be useless.” Already the thought of having to miss potentially months of work was making Nowaki’s stomach churn; he just couldn’t be without a purpose for that length of time. 

Dr. Maeda nodded, blinking slowly. “You can be of some use actually…” She held up a finger and opened her desk drawer, searching through the contents quickly and hauling out a letter. “There is a clinic near Mitsuhashi University, run by Hideki Mitsuru. He specialises in dealing with Russian Syndrome cases, and I suspect you might be of some use to him, considering you are already infected. Give him a call.” She pushed the letter over. “And keep us up to date, as well. You’re a good doctor. I’d hate to lose you.”

Dr. Maeda really needed to work on her bedside manner; Nowaki left the hospital feeling very morose indeed.

* * *

Hiro-san was at work when Nowaki made it home – it was only noon after all – so he did a few tasks around the house for want of anything better to do. In the process of tidying his bag out, he came across the letter Dr. Maeda had given him. 

The job was tempting and would fill up whatever time there was until the virus did its work and Nowaki found himself de-aged. He’d be on the forefront of treatment for the pandemic, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to take a position near the researchers in case a cure was found. Nowaki knew that death was highly unlikely, even with the chronic type, but it really did pay to be careful. 

He dialled the number on the letterhead slowly, as if daring himself to change his mind, and then waited. The phone had nearly rung out when a man picked up, his voice gruff and tired. 

“What?”

“Is Dr. Hideki there?” 

“That’s me. Who’re you?” 

“I am Kusama Nowaki. I’m a paediatrics intern, and I was told you were looking for help at your clinic.”

“Paediatrics? Huh.” The man grunted, “I suppose I could use you, certainly if you’re offering. You’ll need to be tested against the syndrome though, even if you’re fully-blood Japanese. We’ve had some surprises that have sent people off complaining to their parents recently!” He laughed shortly. 

“I already have the syndrome,” said Nowaki quietly, “So I don’t think I’m too concerned.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and then the older man spoke. “I see. Well, come down anyway and we’ll chat. If you’re still willing by then, I might get some research data out of you at the very least. You know the address?”

Nowaki recited it off the letterhead. 

“Good job. You can come down this afternoon. Ask for me at reception.” With that, he hung up; Nowaki was starting to suspect there was something about working near the Mitsuhashi University area that made you grumpy.

* * *

Dr. Hideki’s clinic was an off-white building a few blocks away from the University. Nowaki suspected it would normally be patronised by the students who went to school nearby, judging by the myriad of sexual and mental health posters up in the waiting room, but today it was nearly empty. 

The receptionist was clicking her pen and staring into pace blindly when Nowaki turned up at the desk, at which point she suddenly perked up and even fluffed out her hair hopefully. 

“I’m here to see Dr. Hideki,” he said, ignoring her flirting attempts with a kind smile. “Kusama Nowaki.”

“I’ll page him now,” the woman said, doing so hurriedly so she could turn her attentions back to Nowaki. “Are you here about the syndrome?”

“I’m taking a job here actually,” he said. 

“Really?” She paused and coughed, trying to make herself a little less desperate sounding. “I mean, really?”

“Just for a while.” A door had creaked open at the end of the waiting room and a man with heavy eyebrows and a deep scowl put his head through the gap. “’Scuse me…”

“Kusama?”

“Yes.”

“Come on then.” The man held the door open for Nowaki to scamper through. “You look well enough. Acute or chronic?”

“Chronic.”

“Bad luck.” He showed him into a small office and indicated a chair. “Shove your stuff in here and I’ll show you around.”

The tour was quick but informative. With the onset of the Russian Syndrome, Dr Hideki had transformed his clinic into a set of wards: one for patients developing the syndrome, one for those with the acute type and one for those with the chronic. 

“It’s mostly just so we know which people to watch for signs of deterioration,” the man said, ushering Nowaki into a small laboratory. A team of busy looking technicians were studying graphs and machines, and few looked up from their work. “We have a room set aside for people who are seriously ill with the chronic type, but we’ve only had one person that sick so far.”

“What happened..?” asked Nowaki, eyeing the set-up of equipment with an appreciative eye. 

“Dead. She got down to about five years old and her body just packed it in. Quite sad really.” Dr. Hideki paused, pursing his lips. “We’ve had someone since that was de-aging further, but they were a tourist and their family decided to take them home to Germany.”

“How many new patients are you getting?” 

“Not that many,” said the older doctor, “Counting you, about four this week. Of course, we’re not attracting all the patients or getting all the data, but I think it’s probably a good representation. You’re the second chronic victim, which is a bit out of touch with the data others have received but might just be a fluke.” They were heading back to the officer, wandering through the chronic ward and Dr. Hideki paused to point out the other recently admitted victim. 

“Ah.” Nowaki smiled wryly. It was the American man, resting in bed while his wife sat by him, clutching his hand tightly. “Actually, I recognise him from my hospital. We thought he was genuinely that age until I realised we’d mistaken him for his son.”

Dr. Hideki hummed thoughtfully. 

“I met him a few times before he ‘de-aged’ as well,” Nowaki added, trying to get his point across. “Only a couple days before, probably.”

“Oh?” The point had made it and now the doctor looked interested. “You think you might have the same strain? Well, I’ll be doing some tests on you then, boy.” Off Nowaki’s slightly horrified look, he laughed and clapped him on the back. “You as good as volunteered. Come on and you can decide if you want to stay. After I’ve taken your blood of course.”

* * *

In the end, Nowaki had decided to take the job. For all Dr. Hideki’s rough mannerisms, he was, much as Dr. Maeda, a good practitioner, and had a certain cheerful layer to his gruffness that Nowaki appreciated. Plus the pay wasn’t too bad either, probably because few people wanted to take the job – some fully-blooded Japanese doctors were refusing too in case the virus mutated and figured out a way to spread to other races. Dr. Hideki had sniffed at the suggestion when he had mentioned it. 

“The virus itself is quite curiously inactive. It doesn’t do much aside from shrink people, and not even the Europeans have seen any more than the first couple mutations, and they have tens of thousands of cases.” He shrugged. “It seems you need to have at least one grandparent who is of European stock for the virus to take effect, so a lot of this part of the world is safe. The severity of the disease in the chronic type also seems to depend a lot on which line you’re infected with. If my theory is right, you’ll experience the same length of symptoms before de-aging as the American you think infected you. Given what all you’ve told me, I reckon you’ve got about three to five days before you shrink.”

Nowaki decided to pretend he hadn’t heard that last bit. “Can you trace the really bad chronic lines?”

“We’re trying, but at the moment, we don’t have enough data. We forward all our stuff to the Americans at the moment, kind of hoping that everything will aggregate into one big answer.” He paused and said, “There’s be hear-say of a cure, or at least a temporary measure to slow down the progress of the disease, but I haven’t seen any real proof. I think we’ll probably resort to harvesting antibodies from the immune or the cured, but…” He shrugged again, stroking one of his bushy eyebrows thoughtfully. “I couldn’t be sure.”

All in all, it had been an educational day, and Nowaki was feeling the effects of the syndrome badly when he made it home. His head ached and his bones felt jumpy and unsure under his skin; worsened of course by the fact he was tired and stressed. 

It all added up to this – when Nowaki got home he had really, truly, honestly meant to tell Hiroki what had happened, but when he came through the door Hiroki was half-naked and getting ready to have a shower. Something went ‘ping’ in Nowaki’s slightly befuddled brain, and they ended up fucking against the shower wall. And then again in bed. Twice. 

By the time Nowaki was sated, Hiro-san was asleep, well and truly fucked-out and there was no hope of waking him. Nowaki sat up for a while, as the little shivers of excess energy worked their way down his limbs and finally tucked himself up against Hiroki’s back to sleep fitfully only when his headache began to return.

* * *

Understandably, considering what they had done the night before, Hiro-san was stiff and short-tempered in the morning. Nowaki tried to start a conversation but got his head bitten off so comprehensively he decided it wasn’t quite worth it until Hiro-san’s system was well and truly filled with caffeine. 

Later on, Hiroki was highly confused that Nowaki appeared to be stalking him to work, trotting alongside him as he headed to his platform. He was even more baffled when Nowaki actually got on the train with him, choosing a seat right beside him and relaxing against his shoulder. 

“You do realise the hospital’s the other direction, idiot?” he grumbled, placing his bag on his knees and sipping from his Thermos of coffee. 

“Yes, Hiro-san, but I’m not working hospital shifts today.”

“So, you’re stalking me instead?” 

“I’ve got a temporary placement,” said Nowaki, with un-ending patience. Looking around, he had already spotted a few people who seemed annoyed by Hiroki’s relatively quiet outbursts. Telling him now about the syndrome would probably result in bloodshed or possibly just Hiro-san nearly getting arrested again. “I was trying to tell you earlier on – it’s at a clinic down the road from the university.”

“Oh.” Hiroki frowned slightly and then nodded sharply. “Good then. It better be easier work though. I really am sick of you passing out all over the house.”

“Yes, Hiro-san.” Nowaki laughed quietly, mostly to hide the lump in his throat. He wasn’t outright lying to Hiro-san, but it was a close run thing and made his skin crawl. At the same time, he so desperately didn’t want Hiro-san to worry about him. Part of him, he realised, as the train slowed for their stop, was kind of hoping that if he ignored it and didn’t tell anyone, no one would notice and it would all pass quietly. Of course, that was a hope completely in vain, but Nowaki just couldn’t shake himself of it. 

He said goodbye to his Hiro-san, after being grumbled at not to make a mushy scene in case the students noticed and getting a kiss farewell anyway, and headed to the clinic. Perhaps a good dose of reality would shake his ideas right.

* * *

In the end, though, neither the first nor second day of working at the clinic seemed to kick-start Nowaki into actually telling Hiro-san about his new problem. Even after a sudden terror that he might have infected Hiro-san when the man complained of a headache on the second morning – which had turned out to be nothing, Nowaki questioning Hiroki on any other symptoms like a drill sergeant snapping out orders anyway – he had still avoided answering Hiro-san’s confused question of why he was acting so damn strangely. 

Now, Nowaki was reading a set of papers Dr. Hideki had advised him to read over, all on the Russian Syndrome and none of which were making him feel any better about his condition, while Hiroki was attempting to prepare dinner. 

“There’s no food,” said Hiroki, staring miserably at the contents of the fridge. “Did you eat it all?”

Nowaki set down his article and glanced over his shoulder. “No, Hiro-san. I’ll run out and get something in, if you want though?”

“No, it’s fine.” Hiroki’s stomach growled loudly, and the man groaned. 

“We’ll both go then,” said Nowaki firmly, throwing his papers down onto the table. He wanted to ease some of the nervous energy rocketing up and down his spine, in a method that didn’t involve throwing Hiro-san down and having his way with him for once. 

They grabbed their coats – Nowaki quietly abandoning his gloves and scarf before they reached the door, since he was once again too warm – and headed down to the shops. It was busy, despite the sharp wind, but Hiroki permitted Nowaki to hold his hand, huddling his face down into the collar of his coat even as Nowaki beamed brightly. 

Before they had even reached the shop, Hiro-san nearly wrenched Nowaki’s shoulder off as he spotted something or someone nearby. The doctor could only stumble after his lover as they were tore through the crowds and stopped dead in front of a young blond man, shopping bags gathered around his feet. 

He was intensely familiar, in a way that made Nowaki’s blood start to simmer irritably, and looked less than pleased to see Hiroki. Perhaps one of his students? – but the boy looked far too young. Frankly he looked too young to be out without a school uniform on, but his clothes were a strange mix of a very expensive looking scarf and a much cheaper looking coat. He didn’t look a boy suited to wearing jeans. 

“Oh please tell me this is really happening,” said Hiro-san, grinning in a way Nowaki wasn’t sure he liked. The boy glanced at him, looked away - an especially haughty look on his high-boned face -and then froze. “My word, isn’t this a blast from the past?”

“Oh, fuck…” The boy grimaced, visibly gritting his teeth. “Hiroki… What a joy this is.”

“A joy indeed.” Hiroki gave a sinister little chuckle. “This is excellent. I haven’t been so amused in a long time.”

“Thank you,” snapped the boy, an especially sour tone in his voice. This was all too much for Hiroki, and he burst into laughter, clapping his hands to his ribs as he gasped for breath in between cackles. The boy rolled his eyes and huffed petulantly. 

As Hiroki continued to laugh, and Nowaki watched on in confusion, another young man stopped under the clutch of trees, a similar expression on his fresh face to the one Nowaki knew must be on his. 

With a growl, the blond teenager crossed his arms over his chest, only highlighting his lack of width, and barked, “Remind me exactly why I’m friends with you, Hiroki.”

“Because I was the unlucky bastard you lived across the road from you. So how long have you been so… tiny?” Hiroki’s voice shook his sheer mirth, breathing heavily through his teeth. 

“A few days now.” The look on the boy’s face was so very familiar, Nowaki crept closer and peered more closely at him. Yes… The narrowed eyes - icy blue and nastily intelligent-, high cheekbones, the crop of silvery blonde hair… Someone who ahd lived across the road from Hiro-san when he had been younger… No wonder Nowaki’s instincts had complained at the first sight of the boy. 

“Hiro-san? Is this..?”

“Akihiko, in a new and adorable shape? Yes, it is indeed!” Hiro-san’s control over his laughter slipped once more, and he fell back into hysterics. Nowaki watched the look of supreme annoyance on Usami-san’s face with some amount of glee, and then tried his best to be professional about the whole thing. 

He hadn’t had any contact with any with the Russian Syndrome, not counting the boy with a broken leg on his ward, and any chance to get first-hand information on it wasn’t to be sniffed at. Even if the person was Usami Akihiko, and therefore to be avoided at all costs. 

“You have the Russian Syndrome, Usami-san?” Nowaki asked, trying to temper his voice to something pleasant. It wasn’t that he hated the man for anything he had done in particular – despite his ignorantly hurtful behaviour to Hiro-san before he and Nowaki had met, of course -, it was just he found him really difficult to get along with. Even when he was doing his best to be pleasant, Usami-san always had a gift for acting either oddly or unpleasantly in return. 

This time was no different; the man answered like a petulant child, spitting the words out. “No, I’ve just shrunk.”

Nowaki counted down from five in his head, and then carried on, “Do you know which strain you have?” He expected it to be the acute, mostly because bad things seemed to happen to bad people so very rarely. 

“The chronic one,” said Usami-san, turning his icy gaze onto the doctor as if trying to gut him visually for his curiosity. Nowaki suspected the stare might have worked slightly better if the man’s eyes didn’t have the softness of childhood around the corners. 

“Oh dear,” he said, when it was clear Usami-san wasn’t going to offer any more information without a fight. The boy who had stopped a few paces away took advantage of the break in conversation to spring forward and clutch to Usami-san’s shoulder – Nowaki was frankly surprised the author didn’t elbow him in the face or something for daring to touch his esteemed personage – murmuring something about frozen goods. He had an honest, worried face, with memorably green eyes, like a forest pixie, and a recollection of someone similar swum into Nowaki’s head. He smiled, ignoring the look of death on Usami-san’s face when he did so, and asked if the boy recognised him from the florists.”

“Ah ha, yeah…” The boy was glancing back and forth at Usami-san and Hiro-san, eyes getting even bigger and more worried. 

“That was a long time ago,” Nowaki continued, if only to savour the sheer hatred drifting off the blond man in waves. "I only work there occasionally now. Did your girlfriend like those roses?"

“Girlfriend?” Usami-san made a face, “You don’t have a girl-“

“Shut up, sensei!” The boy yanked on the expensive scarf, as if trying to throttle him. 

“But you gave tho-“

“No!”

Nowaki hadn’t meant to fix the younger man with his disappointed face, the same one he gave to misbehaving children, but he’d developed it without meaning to. The boy had seemed so honestly desperate to make a good impression with the flowers when he had bought them, he’d put so much attention and thought into them, and then he had gone home and given them to that ungrateful sod? There was no justice in the world, he reflected sadly; amending it to ‘little justice’ when Hiro-san brought out his phone and started taking pictures of a very unenthused Usami-san. 

As entertaining as the situation was, Nowaki was still curious. He shuffled over to the boy and asked, “Are you feeling all right? It must be difficult dealing with someone with the syndrome.”

As delicate as the boy looked, there was clearly some steel in him; when Usami-san let loose with a series of curses in a foreign language, he only shrugged mildly as he mentioned he was immune, adding, “And he’s no more difficult than usual.” The look Usami-san shot him was particularly evil, but he just glowered back. 

Finally, Usami-san’s temper snapped again and even Hiroki decided to stop aggravating him, and allowed him to find something to relieve his mood on someone else. Unfortunately, his gaze fell on Nowaki and the younger man found himself being scoured by a suddenly thoroughly predatory gaze. It was like he was reading Nowaki’s mind, picking through the pieces and lining them up as he chose the biggest flaw. When Nowaki realised that Usami-san knew, somehow had picked up the symptoms and added them all together, his heart plunged to the vicinity of his knees. 

“My word, Kusama-kun, you look a bit more tired than usual. Are you finding it warm out here?” He sneered slightly, and glanced back at Hiroki, who had gone very quiet and thoughtful all of a sudden. 

“It’s nothing serious,” Nowaki said, trying to crush his slight worried stutter and failing. “Really, I’m actually all right.” He wiped his brow, grimacing to find himself slicked with sweat and his hands trembling with excess energy. Hiroki looked at his hands, his face, and his own face developed his traditional thunderous expression. “I’m fine. I am, Hiro-san, it’s not serious.”

With a cheerful parting shot, Usami-san gathered up his bags and lured his boyfriend off back into the crowds. Hiroki grabbed Nowaki by the collar and dragged him down so they were face to face. 

“You have that bloody syndrome, don’t you?” he growled. 

“I… Yes, Hiro-san,” admitted Nowaki. It was like a breath of fresh air to admit it, but there was a bitter taste of poison along with it – Hiro-san’s reaction was exactly what he was trying to avoid, but he knew that not telling him immediately had undoubtedly made it so much worse. 

“I can’t-!” Hiroki visibly bit down on his tongue and snarled under his breath, “Fucking Akihiko.”

“Maybe we should go home?” Nowaki suggested meekly, while in his head he was agreeing with Hiro-san tenfold. 

The look Hiroki gave him was answer enough; he stormed off ahead, and Nowaki sloped behind miserably. There was no hand holding this time.

* * *

Almost as soon as he was through the door of their flat, Hiroki was on a rampage: he threw his coat onto the chair, phone bouncing out of the pocket and wedging itself in the cushions; his shoulders were tense, a rigid straight line across his shaking back. Nowaki longed to pull him into a hug and ease the tension out of him, but he knew that would go down intensely badly. He stormed back and forth, avoiding looking at Nowaki, who stood silently in the doorway, heart pounding painfully hard. 

On one of his short circuits, Hiroki spotted the papers Nowaki had earlier abandoned on the table and snatched them up. He read the title quickly, his expression darkening even further, and he threw the article away, scattering sheets of paper all over the floor. “What the hell?!”

“Hiro-san, I…”

“Why the fuck do you not tell me these things?! How could you keep this a secret from me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Hiro-san, I wanted to be-“

“I’m your fucking lover! We’ve been together so long we’re practically as good as married. So stop with the ‘I don’t want to worry you’ and ‘I don’t want to slow you down’ shit! I’m meant to worry about you, I want to fucking wait! It’s practically my fucking job!”

“I.. Hiro-san.. I’m sorry…”

“Is this why you’ve been so twitchy these past weeks?”

“Yeah; the symptoms –“

“Don’t distract me with the doctor shit. Where’d you get it from?”

“The hospital, somewhere. A carrier must have passed through.”

It was like a little light-switch went on, even behind the rage in Hiroki’s eyes. “This new clinic they’ve got you helping…”

Nowaki did his best to look even more abashed. “For Syndrome patients. They needed all the help they could get.”

“And you were assigned because you told them that you had it. How long?”

“What..?”

“How fucking long have you known?!”

“Three days,” he said quietly, “Tsumori-senpai noticed it first.”

Another landmine. Hiroki’s face froze in place and then he said carefully, “You’ve been tested then?”

“The chronic type,” he said, trying to buffer himself by adding, “It’s not necessarily bad news, Hiro-san –“

“Don’t,” snapped Hiroki, looking about frantically for a moment. He grabbed his phone and his coat from the chair he’d thrown them on before and stomped to the entry-way to put his shoes back on. 

Nowaki followed, like a kicked puppy. “Please don’t go, Hiro-san, I’m really sorry. I know this is one of the thing we’ve spoken about before, but I was shocked and I didn’t think and –“

“Stop it.” Hiroki placed one, slightly shaking, index finger onto Nowaki’s lips. He still had his angry flush, and he was staring resolutely to the left, a technique Nowaki recognised as an attempt to control his temper, but the words had some thin level of kindness behind them. “I’m going to cool off, come back and then yell at you some more. Get yourself some dinner. I’ll be back late.” 

The door shut quietly. That was somehow even worse than it slamming.

* * *

How could he? How could he? All Hiroki could think was that, repeating the phrase again and again in his head as he walked. 

It was a big thing, a big scary thing, and Hiroki had gotten sick of being excluded from the big scary things a long time ago. He’d thought they’d dealt with this problem, where they kept this sort of stuff from each other, holding themselves at a distance to protect the other. It was stupid and irritating, and, most annoying of all, made Hiroki feel like such a whiny teenaged girl: how can he not tell me? I thought he loved me?

He turned a corner and sneezed as a gust of chilly wind hit him directly in the face. It was a good excuse to explain away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, but he wiped his face angrily with his sleeve anyway. As he did so, his pocket vibrated and he plunged a hand in to pull out his phone. Instead of the miserable apology text he’d kind of been expecting from Nowaki, it was a message from Akihiko instead. 

‘How did your boyfriend get my number?’

‘Why?’ he typed back, holding the handset in a tight grip to leach away the small amount of heat the battery was giving out; his hands were fucking freezing. 

‘He wants me to talk to you. Seems someone’s got a guilty conscience.’

“He bloody well better!” Hiroki shouted, glancing around seconds later to ensure no one had seen his outburst. He tapped the same message into the phone and received a reply a long few minutes later. 

‘Give the big lug a break, maybe?’

‘WHAT?’

There was a long pause and then the mobile began to ring. Hiroki answered it grudgingly. 

“Look, let’s make this quick, I’m trying to get someone drunk here.”

“God, do you ever st-“

“Listen!” It was hard to take orders from a voice Hiroki recognised as being solely from his childhood, but he did his best anyway. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand the dynamic you two have going in your relationship, lest my head explode, but think of it this way: your boyfriend has been told he is sick, possibly severely. He didn’t tell you for a while, because he was in shock! And when he did tell you, you blow up at him.” Akihiko tutted mock severely. “You haven’t mastered positive reinforcement yet, have you?”

“What the hell, Akihiko?”

“Shock makes us do stupid things, Hiroki. It made me drink an entire bottle of single malt, for example.”

“But he keeps doing this! Hiding things from me!”

“Well, how many times has he been told he might die?” Akihiko snapped, “Count this faux pas as a separate mistake, and go back to breaking the poor bastard’s balls whenever he hides something else from you. Act like an adult for once!”

“Why the hell should I?” said Hiroki, not really meaning the question at all, and ignoring the part where Akihiko was much, much, much more immature than he was. 

“He loves you, Hiroki,” sighed Akihiko, “He loves you enough to call me and ask for help. I thought he was going to murder me, but he was so intensely civil I could almost hear his teeth grinding. Think that through.” 

Hiroki hung up without saying goodbye and started trudging again.

* * *

Nowaki had ordered food in, but couldn’t bring himself to eat any of it. The syndrome’s symptoms combined with the worry about what Hiro-san would say when he got back had started the doctor’s stomach churning uncomfortably from the moment the door had shut behind him. Now the soup had congealed and the noodles were limp and cold, and Nowaki’s stomach still ached hollowly. 

The noise of the door opening and closing brought him up from the slump he had eased into, and he stared hopefully towards the doorway as Hiro-san took off his shoes and hung his coat up on the hook. 

Without speaking, the professor padded across to the table and examined the food Nowaki had intended to eat. He rolled his eyes, took the dishes and shoved them in the microwave, still chilly and silent. 

“Hiro-san?” Nowaki ventured hopefully. “I am really sorry. I just… Everything just sort of slipped my mind. I was… stupid and thoughtless. Please, I am sorry.”

“Doctors make the worst patients,” said Hiroki, slightly cryptically. He tested the food to see if it was warm enough and divided it onto another set of dishes. “Come get your dinner.”

“Hiro-san?”

The man growled, and jabbed a fork in Nowaki’s direction, finally making eye contact with him. “Stop repeating my name like you’re some sort of idiot parrot. I have forgiven you! You’re taking me to this clinic tomorrow, getting me all the information you can about this syndrome, and we shall never speak of this again!” He shoved one of the plates over. “And I’m sorry about storming off earlier. Eat.”

“Thank you, Hiro-san.” Nowaki bowed his head over his food and ate obediently.

* * *

Sure enough, the next morning, it was Hiroki who stalked Nowaki to work. Neither of them were feeling their best – they had slept in the same bed, barely touching and feeling so intensely awkward that sleep had only come reluctantly. On top of this, Nowaki was feeling even more dreadful than normal, and had been so warm when he woke, it had felt like his brain was melting on the inside. He had remained so befuddled, Hiroki had actually worried over him obviously, leading Nowaki to feel even worse than he had hidden his condition from his lover. 

Thankfully, Nowaki’s condition had quickly improved and he had been fit enough to go to work, taking Hiro-san with him. Dr. Hideki had been gruff at the start, but had quickly warmed to Hiroki – Nowaki suspected there was some shared enjoyment over being permanently irritable that had bonded them so quickly. It helped that Hiroki appeared to have an impressive reputation in Mitsuhashi as being a bit of a lethal professor, and Dr. Hideki seemed to appreciate this greatly. 

“Is it true you actually bit a student once?” the man asked, after the exchange of plenty of pamphlet, information and, finally, phone numbers in case of an emergency. 

Hiroki tutted and rolled his eyes. “No, of course not.” He paused and made a face. “I bit one of my friends once, when they invaded my office and refused to leave once too many.”

Nowaki perked up immediately. “Was it Usami-san?”

Hiroki nodded shortly, and Nowaki went back onto the wards with a contented feeling in his soul. Laden with new information and a determined case to learn all he could, Hiroki went back home on his own.

* * *

After his third day of clinic work, Nowaki went home, found Hiro-san infinitely more accepting and considerably less angry than he had been only hours beforehand, spent the evening being allowed to cuddle his lover, and then went to bed, happy and contented. 

It all lasted until about six in the morning, when Nowaki woke up, tried to roll over and found his progress all but frozen by Hiro-san’s weight on the other side of the bedcovers. It was immediately obvious to him what had happened, but he still lay very still for a moment, considering his next move. Should he try to get up without disturbing Hiro-san and check what he looked like in the mirror, or should he ask for help?

Before he could decide, Hiroki solved the problem for him, by attempting to roll over as if to follow Nowaki across the bed, and smushing his face directly into Nowaki’s bicep. He growled and wriggled up slightly, rubbing sleep from his eyes and then froze. His eyes widened sharply and all morning irritation slid off his face – Nowaki wasn’t shocked enough himself to ignore the fact that his Hiro-san’s surprised face was very cute indeed. 

“Shit…” He breathed, raising a hand to poke Nowaki’s shoulder gingerly. “So it really happened.”

Nowaki nodded, easing himself up and glancing down himself. He had been worried about how far down he would de-age, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to be younger than fifteen. He had always been tall for his age anyway, so his clothes still didn’t seem to be too baggy length-wise. 

The few major changes Hiroki could see were mostly on the shape of his face and the width of his shoulders. He didn’t have such an angular jaw now, but a softer line to a still sharp chin, and the layout of everything on his face was strange to Hiroki who had known the grownup version of him so well - his eyes were too big for a start. There was a sort of clumsiness to his limbs, like they were too long for him to control, and his pyjama bottoms slid off him with little ceremony. 

“Um.” The smile was still the same; joyful and loving and with the power to make Hiroki irritated and breathless at the same time. “Could I borrow some of your clothes, Hiro-san?”

* * *

Dr Hideki was disappointed and overjoyed at the same time. He was down another doctor from his stretched-thin team, but he was pleasantly accurate when it came to predicting how long Nowaki had had until being de-aged. 

He took more blood, took so many measurements Hiroki began to shift crossly, a jealous blush on his face, and then sent them both on their way. 

“Come back tomorrow, and we’ll get you a lumbar puncture. I reckon you’ll be grand though – that American chap is still compos mentis, so you should be too.” He rubbed his hands with devilish glee, returning into the clinic with a low cackle. “Oh, this is excellent!” 

“I think he might be a mad scientist,” said Hiroki, looking Nowaki over again. He was still getting used to his lover’s new shape, but he wasn’t complaining. Nowaki was now the same height as him, tall enough by anyone’s standards especially if you were meant to be fifteen, and slightly slimmer with it. For once Hiroki didn’t look absolutely tiny in comparison, and he was enjoying it greatly. 

“It’s always the cackling that gives them away,” agreed Nowaki. He was also feeling satisfied, and he was quick to share why with Hiroki. “I’m happy, Hiro-san. I have nothing to do all day, and you’ve already called in sick…”

Hiroki gave him a slow look, just as Nowaki nipped in close and kissed him hard on the mouth. “What are you doing?”

“We’ll have to find something to occupy ourselves with, Hiro-san,” Nowaki beamed, his smile delighted and innocent. “I have an idea.”

Hiroki blushed furiously, but stayed by Nowaki’s side as they started for the train station. “You’re fucking hopeful,” he muttered, but he certainly didn’t deny it was probably a very good idea indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

Akihiko nearly vaulted over the back of the sofa at the sight of his father; his reaction times startling even Misaki, who was normally used to the speed the man could move at when he wanted to. He spat something about going out, bad attitude dripping off the words, and tried to storm past his father, only for the man to grab him by the arm and hold him steady with ease. 

As Usagi-san’s face darkened with the manhandling, his father spoke in a calm voice, as if he hadn’t just walked in to find his son half the age he should have been. “I think we should have a chat, Akihiko. Just a quick one.”

There was a split second where Misaki was sure the young man was going to snap and swear at Usami-chichi to get out, probably using some form of the word ‘fuck’, but Akihiko visibly bit down hard on his tongue and said, “I’d rather you left me alone.”

“Is there something about looking like that which makes you act in such a bratty manner?” his father sighed. 

“I believe it is nurture rather than nature which is to blame,” Akihiko growled, “Although I was dealt a bad hand on both counts so take that as you may.” He tried to tug his arm from the bigger man’s grip and winced as he failed. “Let go of me.”

“Only if you promise to behave like a civilised person and talk to me.”

“Fine,” spat Akihiko, finally wrenching his arm away and rubbing the sore area about his elbow. “I’m thirty-three and you still make me come up in bruises. Well done.”

Usami Fuyuhiko scowled – a brief expression Misaki would have missed if he hadn’t had been staring so intently at the drama unfolding in front of him – and then said, “I said ‘behave like a civilised person’, Akihiko. Are you deaf as well as difficult?”

The split-second of pure rage crossed Akihiko’s pretty face again, contorting his features briefly, and then he hissed, “Talk.”

Instead of speaking, Usami Fuyuhiko wandered over to the sofa and sat down with a comfortable sigh. He glanced over his shoulder and waved lazily at Misaki. “Hello, Takahashi-kun. I couldn’t trouble you for a cup of tea?”

It was less a question than a demand, and Misaki left the cooker to spin the tap on so quickly water spurted over the edge of the kettle and all down his front. Akihiko remained standing, teeth clenched and eyes flickering madly from side to side, like he was reading an internal monologue. As the kettle boiled, the tension slowly sapped out of the blond’s body, until he was limp and relaxed, anger gone from his face and replaced with an icy wall. Misaki handed him a cup of tea as well, an English blend rather than green tea and well dosed with milk, before handing the original cup to Usagi-chichi, avoiding the man’s penetrative gaze in case he figured out what they had been doing only an hour beforehand. He hoped the smell of disinfectant he’d washed the floor down with would hide the scent of sex. 

“You might as well join us, Takahashi-kun,” he said, considering his drink reflectively. “This will affect you as well, I suppose.” He sipped the tea and nodded in contentment, before fixing his son with those piercing, snake-like eyes. “You’re going to move back in to the family home after all.”

His tone brooked no argument, but Usagi-san visibly revved himself up for one anyway. Misaki sank down on the other sofa and gritted his teeth: it was going to be a long night. 

Akihiko hadn’t even blinked at the announcement, but his grip on his teacup had tightened noticeably. He licked his lips, and asked, “Why on earth would you think I would do such a thing?”

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?” Usagi-chichi gave an expansive wave, from Akihiko’s still-damp mop of hair to his feet, ensconced in a pair of Misaki’s slippers. 

“It is only temporary,” said Akihiko, pronouncing each word very carefully, as if he was afraid he would slip up and swear instead. 

“How temporary exactly?” The older man set his tea down and leant forward, frowning slightly again. “I won’t lie to you, Akihiko, what annoys me most about this is that I had to learn it second-hand from Ryuichiro-kun. Don’t I deserve to be told about these things?”

“No.” Akihiko scowled darkly. “You don’t. I have asked you time and time again to leave me alone, and time and time again you come back to irritate me. I am hoping you will eventually learn that I don’t intend to tell you anything.”

“Akihiko!” The man barked, clenching his fists on his knees. “Will you sit down and stop acting like a teenager? Since you insist you aren’t one, after all.”

There was another very tense moment, where Misaki was too afraid to look over his shoulder and examine Usagi-san’s expression. He imagined it would be quite a thunderous one, and that the man would probably give up all pretences of being polite and storm out in only a few seconds. When Akihiko dropped into the seat beside him, Misaki was more than a little surprised. The murderous look had faded into a distinctly sulky pout, and Akihiko raised a hand to rub his brow. 

“I have such a headache,” he muttered. 

“Got that out of your system?” rumbled Usagi-chichi, watching his son carefully. He really was like some sort of wolf, Misaki realised; you could practically see him circling the situation, eyeing the little chinks and weaknesses for the best place to strike. 

“Just talk,” said Akihiko, and there was a distinctly resigned tone to his voice. 

“Whether you are or are not actually 14-“

“15 or 16! Why does no one get that right?!” snapped Akihiko, subsiding quickly again and clutching at the bridge of his nose. 

“Well, whether you are or are not actually the age you look right now, the problem lies in the fact you do look it, Akihiko. I don’t want my son living on his own, when others might think that he’s been removed from the household or run away.”

Akihiko sneered, “If that’s your only argument, father, it is a very weak one indeed. The Russian Syndrome is very well known indeed, as am I in fact. So it wouldn’t take a genius to work out what has happened to me.” He made a little face and sipped his tea; it was probably lukewarm by now, but he still cradled it in his palms like it was a cold winter’s day. 

“Perhaps it’s not my only reason then.” Usagi-chichi cleared his throat and said, “I want you to move back in and consider getting a fresh start with your family. I realise that your childhood was not… the best, as it was, but you have a chance to redo it now. Why not take that? You’ll come out of it happier, no doubt, with an improved relationship with your brother, your mother and me. You might consider a job with the company, once you realise what’s involved. And you and your brother are much more grown up now – I’m sure you can put aside your petty differences, and learn to work together.”

Even with its sneaky undertones and ulterior motives, it was a genuine entreaty from a parent to his child. Misaki had felt his heart throb at this speech; the longing of his to have his parents back was never far from the surface, and this had brought it back with force. He would have done anything to have his childhood back, and, as much as a child could, he would have done so many things different. And maybe then he’d still have parents and wouldn’t that be fantastic? 

“You’re insane,” said Akihiko flatly, but there was an unfortunate shake to his hands that betrayed whatever strong feelings he was keeping buckled down inside himself, and his eyes were wide, pupils pinpricked to dots in glacial melt-water. “Absolutely fucking insane.”

“Don’t swear, Akihiko,” chided Fuyuhiko, absently. “Well, what about it?”

“No!” The slight tremor broke out for a second into a full bodied shudder, and Misaki was horrified to see Akihiko had actually broken out into a sweat even as his teeth chattered momentarily. It was all swiftly brought under control again, Akihiko dabbing his forehead with the back of his hand, before he spoke. “I hated my childhood, father. Even the thought of doing that again…”

“It wouldn’t be the same, though. That’s the point.”

“But it would be. It always is with you and with this family. You all promise things to keep me in line and then you never, ever keep those promises.” Beneath the blank shield that Akihiko always kept over his eyes, blocking his soul off from curious watchers, Misaki could just see the hint of an abyssal sadness. His heart gave another throb at the sight, prompting him to speak. 

His voice shook immeasurably and he wasn’t even going to think about meeting Usagi-chichi’s lupine gaze, but he crossed his arms over his chest and adopted the haughtiest expression he could. “Well, he can’t leave here – without me to look after him he’d be dead within the month.” He glanced back across and found two sets of blue eyes watching him, Akihiko’s looking pleasantly surprised and Usagi-chichi looking completely unreadable. 

“We do have a butler…” said the older man, slowly. 

“Y-yeah,” Misaki laughed nervously, “But Usag- I mean, Akihiko-san’s tastes have probably changed a lot since he was younger, and, anyway, I wouldn’t trouble anyone if I could do the job myself!”

“I’m not going with you, father,” said Akihiko firmly, “And that’s final.”

There was a long pause and then Usagi-chichi smiled and shrugged, reaching forward again to pick up his tea. “Fair enough. I see your mind is made up. I had thought you might reconsider what with this scare and all, but it’s good to know you aren’t doing things half-assed.” 

Misaki almost made the mistake of relaxing – part of him honestly thought the whole ordeal was over – but then Akihiko narrowed his eyes again and asked, “How did you know?”

“That you are currently half the age you should be? I told you, Ryuichiro-kun told me. He came to the office looking for Haruhiko and he happened to mention your condition to me in passing.” The sour look flitted back across the man’s face, but he said nothing more. 

“And did Isaka-san happen to mention exactly how he knew?” asked Akihiko, his eyes narrowing further. Realisation flooded Misaki’s mind, and he sat very, very still as if freezing up would hide him from the almighty wrath of Usagi-san when he found out it was Misaki that had spilled the beans. But Usami Fuyuhiko had only shrugged and said something about not being sure; Misaki nearly melted from utter relief. He wasn’t sure whether the man was lying about Isaka-san’s sources – he still had his canny face on – but there was no way he was actually going to ask. 

“Are feeling slightly less acerbic now?” asked Usagi-chichi. When his son didn’t reply, levelling a still fairly acid glare on his father, the man sighed and shrugged. “Be that way then. How are you feeling?”

Akihiko sighed, in much the same way as his father had done, and muttered something sullen about being fine. Now that the original argument was finished, he was less filled with nervous energy and considerably surlier, face pulled into a soft pout and whole body drooping morosely. If there was a creature that desperately needed a hug, it was Usami Akihiko at that moment. 

The conversation dragged on in this glum fashion for an indeterminable time, broken only by the ringing of the telephone. Misaki leapt up to answer it but only managed to get halfway across the room before he realised he’d brought himself to Fuyuhiko’s attention, and the man had focused in on him like a wolf on an injured deer. 

“And how are you feeling, Takahashi-kun?” he asked, all sweetness and charm. Misaki stopped dead in the middle of the floor, trying to be polite and smile, while inside he was squirming with embarrassment and anxiety. 

“I’m absolutely fine!” he exclaimed, glancing back worriedly as the phone rang off and the answering machine beeped and the caller hung up before leaving a message. Misaki couldn’t help by deflate slightly as this method of escape was stolen from him – now he’d have to return to the sofa and face down that creepy interest. He dithered for a moment, seriously considering fleeing to the door and bolting into the street, and then succumbed to the inevitable, returning to the sofa with drooping shoulders. “Absolutely fine,” he repeated, much less enthusiastically. 

“Are you sure? You sound tired.”

“It’s been a long day,” said Misaki, meaning it completely. He glanced over at Akihiko, who gave him a very familiar look of utter despair – Misaki could feel a similar expression on his own face. Behind them, the phone began to ring again and Akihiko threw his head back against the sofa with a groan. 

“I am starting to wear my welcome out?” Usagi-chichi drained the last of his tea and rose from the seat. Misaki shot up almost immediately, but Usagi-san stayed seated. “Don’t worry Takahashi-kun, I’ll show myself out.” He paused by Misaki and leant over conspiratorially, to add, “If he gets to be too much trouble, then feel free to call me. I have parental obligations to fill after all.” 

On his way out, he took a quick detour to scrub at Akihiko’s mop of blond hair, which garnered him an exasperated growl and the aura around the teenager darkened even more. Of course, Usagi-chichi didn’t let this phase him, and he was gone, smiling vaguely and apparently completely unaware of the misery he’d left behind him. 

Usagi-san heaved himself up and paced to the alcohol cabinet, peering in hopefully and plucking out a bottle of whisky. When Misaki fixed him with a chilly look of warning, the boy sighed, set the bottle back down and moped back to the sofa. 

“It was nice of your father to drop by,” said Misaki, glumly, checking the answering machine to see if any messages had been left after all. There was nothing, so he padded back to the kitchen and looked around the cooking accoutrements he’d left lying around the space. The pan was cool now, and the vegetables starting to look a little wilted, but he turned the burner back on and started to slice the onion again. 

“Not the word I would use,” replied Akihiko. 

“He only wants to help you,” said Misaki, not feeling very sure about it himself. 

“And again, I’m not so sure.”

The pan of oil began to sizzle alarmingly, and Misaki tossed the onions in without a second look and started in on some other vegetables. He could barely see Usagi-san now – the man had sunk all the way down on the sofa – and felt safe enough about his position to pull a face and sigh dolefully. For a moment he had worried that Usagi-san would have returned with his father, but part of him was more worried that the man hadn’t. Misaki knew if he had been ill, he would have clung to his parents like a limpet – even though he knew that Akihiko did not like his parents in anyway and kind of understood why, it still didn’t make much sense to him. 

“He’s just waiting to drag me back down,” said Akihiko, suddenly. “I can tell. Oh, he says, ‘Come back to the house, you won’t be expected to do anything’ now, but as soon as I’m back in there it’s all the same as it ever was! Ha! I know how this goes too well.”

“He might just want to do good this time,” suggested Misaki meekly. 

Akihiko grunted unhappily. “That’ll be the day!”

“He’s probably just worried, because you look so young!”

“I am sixteen!”

“You still look young!” Misaki scowled, giving the pan a quick stir. “I mean, he is your dad…”

Akihiko’s expression darkened even more, if it was entirely possible. “He is my ‘father’, not my ‘dad’. There is a difference, and therefore I’ll not be running back to his shadow any time soon.”

There wasn’t anything Misaki could really say to that, so he clenched his teeth and picked up his knife again, taking his anger out on a defenceless carrot. 

“Look, my relationship with my father has always been strained. He doesn’t understand me and I don’t understand him, and it’s all a lot easier for everyone if we stay away from each other.” He drained the dregs of his coffee. “I will admit that he does probably care for me, but his methods are suspected at best and just half-arsed the rest of the time.” He slammed the cup back down again. “And there in are my reasons for staying away from him… I wish my grandfather would give him another bitching out.”

An opportunity to prod at Akihiko’s background was not to be missed, especially when there was no good mood to spoil. Misaki turned the heat on the pan down a few marks and cleared his throat carefully. “So your grandfather and Usagi-chichi didn’t get along?”

“Never.” For a moment it looked as though Misaki was going to have to prod a little more, but then Akihiko sighed and flopped down to lie on his belly along the sofa, propping his head on his arms and continuing to speak, “Grandfather always acted as if my father was up to no good, and father always thought grandfather was an interfering old busy-body.” He smiled briefly. “I like my grandfather though. Have you met him yet? He’s a bossy old man, but he’s good fun.”

Misaki paused for a second. Had there not been that inconsiderate meeting a year back, with the division of Akihiko’s grandfather’s will? Surely the man was dead? – but maybe it was the other grandfather the man was talking about. Everyone did have two after all, and the Usami family tree was a twisted, warped thing anyway. He shrugged off his misgivings and prodded again, choosing more risky territory this time. “Did your mother get along with-“

“No!” Akihiko gave a wicked little laugh. “Oh, no! Mother detested the sight of her father, and, I think, grandfather became a little upset with her treatment of me and Haruhiko after a while.”

The vegetables sizzled steamily for a moment when Misaki bundled them into the pan, and he had to wait for the noise to die back before asking, “What exactly did your mother do to you?” He froze when suspicious eyes peered over the arm of the sofa and hurriedly backtracked. “I mean, no, you don’t have to tell me, it’s just that you really don’t like her and I’ve never met her, and I was just wondering. Um.”

Akihiko dropped his head down again, giving another short laugh. “My mother,” he said, sourness dripping off his voice, “Is a drunk, constantly suffering from some sort of persecution complex and just plain unpleasant. She doesn’t talk to me anymore because I’m slightly too big for her to boss around properly.”

“I’m smaller than you and I boss you around,” said Misaki, correcting himself seconds later, “Well, I was smaller than you anyway.”

“Haha. Funny.” Akihiko rolled over onto his back and draped his forearms across his face as if trying to block out the light. “When I said ‘boss around’, it would have probably been more accurate to say… Attack, perhaps?”

“Attack,” repeated Misaki faintly. 

“Mmmm. My mother was insane, Misaki. Just leave it at that.”

* * *

Aikawa arrived only a few minutes later, looking even more flustered than normal. She dropped all of her bags on the sofa without a word, plucked a small mirror from her handbag and examined her reflection. 

“Oh, no…” She seemed horrified to discover that her hair was frizzing hopelessly, and a giant loop was undecided on which side of her parting it wanted to sit, while her lipstick was smudged and her eye shadow lopsided. Then she glanced down, noticed she’d missed a button on her blouse and was displaying her assets to the world. She buttoned herself up hurriedly, while fixing Usagi-san with a baleful look. 

“I have done nothing wrong,” said Akihiko, clearly eager to get his position sorted out even before the argument began. “I’ve even finished my work. You can yell at me today!”

“Show me the manuscript then!” For a second, the woman forgot her woes and she grinned as Akihiko heaved himself up and padded up the stairs. Once he was out of sight, though, she darted over to Misaki and whispered, “Was that Usami-sensei’s father I met in the lobby?”

“I don’t know. Was it?” Misaki paused in his stir-frying. 

“Tall bloke, dark, handsome in a kind of lecherous way?” Aikawa-san flicked a business card out of her sleeve and waved it at Misaki, “He gives me his card every single time we meet! And every time we meet, he’d after talking to Usami-sensei and that gets the big idiot in a terrible mood and-“ She stopped talking abruptly as Akihiko reappeared at the head of the stairs, his printed manuscript tucked under one arm. “Such a lovely stir-fry, Misaki!” she exclaimed, laughing in an incredibly fake manner, “You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

Akihiko gave her a slow look, highly unimpressed, and shoved the papers into her welcoming arms. “Stay with editing,” he advised, “Acting is not your strong point. Although your stage whisper is most impressive – I could hear you up the stairs.”

Aikawa merely blinked once and flipped through some of the pages hungrily – Misaki recognised that light in her eyes as an editor that finally had something to edit and was feeling good about it. “Well, Usami-sensei, you do tend to get grumpy when you speak to your father and I wanted this story to have a good ending. You can’t have a BL story with a sad ending! It would be so tragic!”

At that point, most of Misaki’s brain switched back to cooking, BL novels not being his favourite thing in the world. However, part of him was still distantly following the conversation and couldn’t help but notice just how dreadfully rude Akihiko was being. Even for him!

Thankfully, Aikawa must have put it down to post-father-grumpiness syndrome and excused herself hurriedly. Akihiko slammed the door after her and skulked back to his sofa, clearly sensing her early departure as some sort of proof at what he suspected. Only Misaki knew the truth – that it was all his fault. Usagi-san suspected Aikawa of telling Isaka-san, who had of course spilled the beans to Usagi-chichi, when in fact it was entirely Misaki who had let slip. He would admit to it soon – but just not now. Usagi-san’s mood was still soured, and dumping Misaki’s slip-up on his lap at a time like this would be a bad idea indeed. Perhaps tomorrow? Or the day after… Misaki poured the sauce onto the vegetables and let the small cloud of steam hide his expression of worry. Maybe never would be best after all…

* * *

Misaki decided to go to bed early not long after the dishes were done; it had been a highly trying day all around and he was planning on working on some coursework the next day so a good sleep would be highly appreciated. He excused himself, explained his reasons and tried to start getting ready for bed. However, Akihiko evidently had had other plans, and now tacked himself onto Misaki, following him up the stairs and along the landing closely. 

“Why would you go to bed so early when you have nothing to do the next day?” whined Akihiko, “Do you understand the joy of being awake so late at night?”

“I think you just never grew up properly,” said Misaki, casting a jaded eye over his new shadow. Everywhere he went, Usagi-san would trail after him like a worried puppy. Misaki had to physically remove him from the bathroom so he could actually use it, and, when he came out, found the young man waiting outside the door. “What do you want?!”

Akihiko merely cocked his head innocently, widening his eyes like butter wouldn’t melt; Misaki gave him a dark look, remembering the cursing and sniping and general bad attitude of only a few hours beforehand, and stalked off to the bedroom without waiting for a proper reply. And Usagi-san still followed, schlepping along behind him and waiting until he was pulling his pyjamas from under the pillow where he had stowed them before pouncing. 

It wasn’t a proper pounce though, but a hug. Thin arms were wrapped around Misaki’s waist, forehead pressed between Misaki’s shoulders, the front of his body pressed tight to Misaki’s back. It was shocking, in a sort of baffling way, and Misaki dropped his pyjamas and tried to peer behind his own shoulders to see what exactly Akihiko was doing. 

“Thank you,” the man said softly, the shift of his lips against Misaki’s back lighting little signal fires in his spine. 

“What? Why?” He gave up on trying to twist his head around like an owl, and instead looked down at the hands clasped tightly over his stomach, thin and pale fingers hooked together like the teeth of a zip. 

“I know you don’t understand why I behave like I do when it comes to my parents, but today…” Akihiko smiled. “You stood up for me again. So, thank you.”

Misaki mumbled something modest about not really being bothered about Akihiko’s condition, and since he wasn’t much more trouble than usual, there was no real reason for him to leave as such. It wasn’t much, but he still received a rib-bending squeeze for his troubles, and a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. 

“I’m not used to people standing up for me,” said the blond, so quietly Misaki could barely hear it. “But I do like it.”

Slowly, as if his limbs were working through a dream, Misaki detached the slim arms from around his waist and gently pulled him to the side, pushing him down to perch on the edge of the bed. Akihiko blinked up at him, eyes wide and confused right up until the point Misaki knelt down between his thighs. 

“Misaki…” The young man breathed, and Misaki’s cheeks flushed a scalded pink; his hands still drifted over the buttons and zips of Akihiko’s borrowed jeans, plucking them open and then pausing, gathering all his courage for the next move. “You never fai- Nhh!” His speech descended abruptly into a slightly choked noise as Misaki’s shaking hand palmed the already half-hard bulge the opened jeans had bared. 

Misaki glanced up to see the young man’s head thrown back, throat trembling as he moaned, and looked back down with an extra burst of determination. The hug and the kind, pathetically kind, words had left him achingly happy, and needing to share just how loved he felt. And this method was one of Usagi-san’s favourites for spreading the love, so why didn’t Misaki have a go? Especially now that the man was a more convenient size, as it were. 

The smooth, velvety skin of the man’s cock settled neatly in Misaki’s hand when he pulled the underwear down; he gave a few clumsy strokes, running a thumb over the head and startling when Akihiko gave a throaty yelp and jerked his hips forward into the touch. He was now completely hard, pulses throbbing heavily against the hot skin, and Misaki teased him shyly with a few more strokes. Finally he gripped the base in one shaking hand and lowered his mouth to the pearling tip; his tongue flickered out and trailed up the underside, lapping up the pre-come and pausing to consider the taste. Of course, due to Akihiko’s perverted natures, he had tasted come before – mostly in Usagi-san’s mouth in a post-coital kiss – but the taste of pure Akihiko was new and worth savouring. 

“You can’t tease me like that, brat!” Akihiko tried to snap, but his voice came out tense and husky. Misaki grinned to himself and gave another lick, just to hear the resulting groan, before taking the head in his mouth and seeing how much he could take in. It was trickier than it looked, he realised quickly – he had to keep his teeth clear, judge just how far the next bob of his head would take him down, put his tongue to good use and remember to suck. Despite his inexperience, Akihiko seemed to be enjoying himself – his hands were fisted on his thighs, which were spread as wide as possible, and his head remained thrown back, his chest rising and falling in heaves. Whenever Misaki struck upon a particularly good technique – trailing his tongue up the throbbing vein on the underside, or lapping pointedly at the tip – the young man would give another hoarse groan, the sound of which went straight to Misaki’s own cock. He was painfully hard within minutes, shifting uncomfortably as his erection strained in his underwear, and trying to judge just how perverse it would be to use his spare hand to reach down and touch himself. 

Before he could decide though, Akihiko gave a particularly heart-felt groan and, placing his hands on Misaki’s hair, urged him to stop. Not sure whether he was willing to bring the man to orgasm in his mouth, Misaki obediently moved away and gave his lover a hopeful, blushing look. Akihiko was still panting, even without the immediate stimulation of Misaki’s mouth, his expression absolutely delighted and lusting. He grabbed Misaki by the shoulders and hauled him up onto the bed properly, pressing their mouths together hungrily. Misaki could only lie still and let his mouth be plundered by the invading tongue, slim hands flitting all over his body, tweaking and stroking and scratching. When they had to pull apart to breathe, Akihiko leant down to whisper his love into Misaki’s ear and then drifted down his body, mouthing the twin peaks of his nipples through his shirt and then arriving at the bulge in his trousers with a pleased sigh. 

Akihiko had no shame about touching himself at all while he sucked Misaki off, showing the novice just how an expert performed. Unable to hold back, Misaki gasped and groaned just as Usagi-san had been doing minutes beforehand, as that perfectly talented mouth brought him to the very edge and then cruelly kept him there. A suddenly slick finger slid into him, just to add to the sensations, before being removing abruptly and Akihiko pulling off Misaki’s cock with a muffled ‘pop’. His lips were swollen, much as Misaki’s own were, he realised, but curved in a pleased smirk. As if by magic, a bottle of lube appeared in Akihiko’s hand and he paused to torment Misaki’s nipples again before returning to his task again. 

It had been a while now since Misaki had taken it up the ass, and he wriggled in discomfort initially when the cool, slick finger plunged deeply into him. But then that warm, wet mouth returned to his cock, and the fingertip rubbed firmly over his pleasure spot, and all was right with the world again. He relaxed into the bed as he was slowly finger-fucked, only tensing slightly again when the second finger entered him and being soothed with a soft hum that sent vibrations straight into Misaki’s brain. 

The torment raised him once more to the edge of pleasure, and before long he was whining, voicelessly begging Usagi-san to get a move on and push him over. He tugged lightly at the silky light strands of Akihiko’s hair, trying to pull him up so he could push in, and Akihiko chuckled. This new vibration was almost enough – Akihiko did as he was told, kneeling up and pressing the tip of his cock to Misaki’s achingly empty hole. He smiled, devastatingly lovely, and then thrust in; the head of his cock pushed firmly over Misaki’s prostate and it was only the burn of being entered that prevented the younger man coming on the spot. 

As Misaki reached down to take his cock in hand, Akihiko leant down and rucked Misaki’s shirt up to bare his nipples, which were still perked and pinkened. They were both still partially dressed – Misaki was missing his trousers and underwear, but Akihiko only had his pulled down just enough – but it wasn’t the urgent fuck that Misaki associated with not bothering to get fully naked. Akihiko’s hips ground into Misaki’s body, slowly and firmly, while his tongue licked and lathed Misaki’s nipples. With this touch on such sensitive points, Misaki’s grip on his cock faltered momentarily as he focused on Akihiko’s mouth nibbling across his chest; only when Akihiko distracted himself from his task to suck up a hickey on Misaki’s shoulder, did the younger man remember where his hand was and began to jerk himself again. 

“I love you,” Akihiko whispered again, nibbling softly on Misaki’s ear lobe. “I really love you, Misaki.” His voice was so husky and sweet, and Misaki gave a faint bleat of pleasure, hooking his heels around the back of his lover’s knees so as to pull him in deeper with each slow, mind-bendingly good thrust. 

Their lips met in a soft, sweet kiss; the younger man groaned into the kiss at each pass over his prostate, and his strokes of his own cock sped up. Sensing his imminent release, Akihiko drew back slightly, and bowed his head to suck at the pulse point hammering against Misaki’s throat, trailed his mouth up the tendon to his jaw line and then back along to his ear. Each of his thrusts were becoming more pointed, and Misaki had to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from screaming with pleasure – aside from the groans and whispered adoration, the whole affair had been conducted quietly, and to cry out even now seemed like breaking some sort of sacrament. 

“I love you,” repeated Usagi-san, in that low, truthful tone, and Misaki broke then and there. He bit down on Akihiko’s sweat slicked shoulder, teeth grinding to the collarbone, as his hand and belly was coated in his release. His spasming muscles drew a soft hiss out of Usagi-san, who kept his slow, deep pace in and out of Misaki’s body steady until the brunette released his bite. The pace faltered and Akihiko groaned, undone, as Misaki raised his come soaked hard and brushed dazed fingers over the bruising, bleeding mark with an expression of wonder. 

Both of them were fully spent, sides heaving, skin slick with sweat, even though it had not been so physically demanding as usual. Instead Misaki felt rather mentally drained, as if his orgasm had suctioned out most of his brain and nerves. He couldn’t even bring himself to stir, as sticky and sweaty as he was, but thankfully, Usagi-san remained able to move and he undressed them both completely. When the blond flopped down into the sheets finally, Misaki could only just heave himself to the side slightly, plastering himself over the slim, pale form with a sigh of contentment. 

For ten minutes silence reigned supreme, Misaki cushioning his head on Usagi-san’s trim chest. What with all the recent nonsense and the switching of position, it had been a while for Misaki and now his body ached pleasantly. He raised his head sleepily, noting with some satisfaction the livid purple bruise he had raised over Akihiko’s protruding collar bone, millimetres from where his pulse still fluttered delicately at the base of his throat. He was well and truly warped now, Misaki realised, able to consider such things without shame. There was a touch of embarrassment though, the less pervading and visceral of the two emotions, which Misaki thought was probably just right after such shenanigans. 

“You could stop thinking now,” grumbled Akihiko, jolting his shoulder se Misaki received a jar. He lost his grumpiness almost as soon as Misaki touched the bruise with a gentle finger; he shivered and sucked in a sharp breath, delicate goose bumps rising over his skin. 

“Um. Sorry,” said Misaki, tracing the deeper tooth marks and blushing. He hadn’t thought he’d had it in him to bite someone quite as hard as he had obviously done. 

“Mmmf…” Akihiko glanced down at the mark, and gave a toothy grin. “Well, that’s a new idea.”

“No,” said Misaki flatly, he had come across the sharp ends of Akihiko’s teeth before – little love nibbles scattered over his shoulder and chest, to bigger nips and bites as the man lured him into orgasm. He had enough trouble as if was trying to hide the marks, without Akihiko getting any more ideas. 

The man deflated back onto his pillow, and lay quietly for a moment. Misaki could almost hear him plotting nefarious deeds. His suspicion was nicely validated when Akihiko sighed contentedly and said, “Well, I suppose I do look quite tasty. You could be forgiven for wanting a nibble.”

Misaki raised his head again to glower at his lover – the blond appeared to be entirely serious, even on close inspection. “You’re such an arrogant, vain, perverted, idiot!”

“Oh, come on,” sighed Akihiko, stretching a long, creamy-skinned leg up and out. It was a very nice leg indeed – even the foot on the end, although disproportionately large, was elegant and flawless. How a person could have flawless feet, Misaki wasn’t sure, but that was one right there. Akihiko seemed to sense the younger man’s thoughts and added, “Admit it. You think I’m pretty.”

“Ha!” Misaki dropped his head to the blond’s chest once again, wincing as his head settled uncomfortably on a set of bony ribs. “You would be so lucky.”

“I’ve seen you looking at me,” continued Akihiko, twisting his foot this way and that as if inspecting it at all angles. “And don’t you remember the several occasions when you took me? Pushed me down and ravished me?” He chuckled, and Misaki’s face burst into a scarlet blush. The shame, that emotion which he had been so free from, was creeping up on him again and loosened his tongue to bitter words. 

“That was less to do with finding you attractive,” he snapped, “And more to do with being horny.” Immediately he hated himself for it – it was such an incredibly unkind and untrue thing to say, and he didn’t even have to look at Usagi-san’s face to see he had struck a nerve at full speed. Under his ear, the soft rustling noises of breath had abruptly halted and trembled, while the gradually slowing thump of heartbeats had lurched back up to speed with a jolt. 

“I see,” said Akihiko, voice shedding the post-coital contentment and becoming decidedly chilly. He shifted suddenly, pulling away from Misaki and standing up. When Misaki lifted his head from where he had been dropped to the sheets, he found that Usagi-san was wearing his special ‘untouchable’ expression; chin raised, eyes narrowed, looking as haughty as anything. A spike of pain seared through Misaki’s gut – to anyone else, Usagi-san would look normal, but to Misaki it’s a pitiful sight indeed. 

“I need a cigarette,” the man muttered darkly, bending to gather up items of clothing and pulling them on haphazardly. Misaki lay still and said nothing.

* * *

Misaki showered and changed the sheets, and then lay alone and guilty for half an hour, listening to Usagi-san padding about in the rest of the penthouse. He can pinpoint exactly where the man is – the clack of the sliding doors to the balcony, the whine of the kitchen tap and then the creak of the stairs before the long hiss of the shower. The young man readied himself for Akihiko’s return when the shower stopped, but then he picked up the creak of the stairs again, in the opposite direction this time, and then the balcony doors being opened. 

Finally the man returned to bed, freshly washed and stinking of cigarette smoke. Misaki resisted both of his urges: one, to yell at the man for smoking again, and two, for not having the sense to smoke and then shower.

He stayed quiet and watched as Akihiko sat on the edge of the bed and removed the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The contents were examined closely, before he glanced back at Misaki – who hurriedly pretended to be asleep – and then huffed out a breath. Misaki cracked an eye open again in time to see the cigarettes being tossed onto the bedside table and then Akihiko burrowed under the blankets. For a moment the shifting covers obscured Misaki’s view and then the silvery head pops into view again. 

“Why won’t you say it?” asked Usagi-san abruptly. 

Misaki started and stumbled, muttered helplessly for a second – he was not good at being put on the spot. 

“I mean you don’t have to say anything more telling than, ‘I find you attractive’. Or is that another thing that’s too much to ask?” His voice was liberally laced with bitterness, a long standing flavour that made Misaki’s stomach turn. 

“You hear it from everyone! Surely you don't need to hear it from me as well?” demanded Misaki, hoping that Akihiko would take the hint and let him escape embarrassment this time. 

To his surprise, he did, a strange expression forming on his youthful face and then rolling over to his opposite side, tucking up in the sheets in jerky, upset movements. “Because it’s really the same thing, is it?” He said softly, voice positively dripping with upset.” You think that being told I'm beautiful by creepy old men and women is really any sort of replacement from someone like you saying it?” He sighed, slim shoulders hunching up as if to protect himself from Misaki's reaction. “Just go to sleep,” he added, “Don't worry about it.”

There was no way Misaki could sleep now, with his heart on the verge of breaking. It was much easier to ignore Akihiko's soft little woes when he was tall and broad and strong, but when he was the same size as Misaki and physically delicate it felt like unnecessary cruelty. He looked down at the soft spread of silvery blond hair on the pillow, the soft curve of his jawline, the long pale, the perfect column of his throat, and said, simply and honestly, “You’re beautiful.”

Akihiko glanced back slightly, an amethyst iris rolled into view, and Misaki realised what he had just said. He flushed immediately and threw himself down into the sheets and pillows to hide his face. To his eternal gratitude Akihiko didn’t say a thing, but eventually Misaki noticed that the blond had inched himself back to lie against Misaki's flank. He couldn’t even think about lying to himself about how comfortable it was and rolled onto his side so he could snuggle a bit closer. When Akihiko grabbed his hand and pulled his arm around to hug it to his chest, he didn’t complain. It felt natural to lie like this.

* * *

The next morning Misaki was kind of expecting to be free from his pesky bed-mate’s grip - some times during the night the other man would roll away and leave Misaki free to sleep unencumbered - but Akihiko was clinging to him as tightly as ever, now with his head cushioned on Misaki's chest.   
He looked intensely peaceful, and Misaki didn’t want to disturb him at all. With the utmost care he untangled an arm and brushed fingers over Akihiko’s soft fringe, admiring the silky delicacy of his locks once more. Beneath his touch Akihiko murred and mumbled in his sleep, shifting slowly and sluggishly. Blond eyelashes fluttered and flickered open to display sleepy blue eyes, and a smile curved onto his lips. Misaki was sorely tempted to lean down and kiss him firmly, but bit back on the urge. It got much harder when Akihiko sat up slowly and stretched, and one arm of his t-shirt slipped down his shoulder, teasingly baring the bite marks Misaki had inflicted on his lover’s shoulder the evening before. 

Akihiko rubbed his shoulder absently and muttered something about sleeping well for once. Misaki made a garbled noise of agreement and clutched for something he could use to disguise his arousal. Of course Akihiko still raised a sharp eyebrow when the brunette clasped a pillow to his groin, but today he seemed more willing to let Misaki escape complete humiliation and surf his own little wave of embarrassment. 

This day passed mostly in silence – Misaki was still too embarrassed from the night before, and his display that morning, to say much without a full body blushed turning his words to gibberish, and Usagi-san seemed content to be quiet. In fact, he seemed to craving silence – as soon as the phone began to ring again, he simply got up, crossed to the plug and yanked the cord out. 

Misaki looked up from the essay he had been planning and rolled his eyes. “You better not be hiding from Aikawa-san,” he said, the words drying up in his throat when Akihiko turned a lavender-blue gaze on him. He went back to the essay without another word.

* * *

The day did actually pass mostly in quiet: good natured but slightly awkward nonetheless. Usagi-san was behaving a bit oddly again; aside from his sudden disinclination to speak or be spoken to, he picked at his food at lunch and dinner, and then went to bed so early the sun’s rays were still pinkening the sky. Misaki took the opportunity to have a quiet, molestation-free evening, but the lack of Usagi-san at his side and the uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu that had settled over the nape of his neck prevented him from really settling down. 

It was pleasant, though, to be able to go to bed, curl down beside someone pretty and warm and not have them bother you about what you thought of them for once. Misaki hadn’t thought he was tired, but the urge to sleep dragged him under quite quickly, and he never even noticed the way Akihiko was shivering.

* * *

Akihiko woke slowly and as grumpily as ever. The bed underneath him didn’t creak and roll like his mattress at home did, like a well-padded ship in rough seas, but shifted firmly instead, rocking him to the side and into contact with the warm flank of someone. His head swam as he sat up, his stomach lurched unhappily as he considered the gloom about him.

"Usagi-san?" The person in bed with him wriggled and heaved themselves out of the sheets, hauled themselves up and yawned. Akihiko looked back across at emerald eyes, blinking sleepily, under thick lashes, chocolate brown hair sleep ruffled and in hilarious spikes. The young man tilted his head and smiled sweetly, and Akihiko bit his lip.

"My father is going to kill me..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! It gets interesting from here on in! This is the start of dramas, and nonsense and misunderstandings. I do hope you enjoy those, because you'll be seeing a lot of it from now on!
> 
> Also, the initial part of this chapter takes place on the same day as Chapter 9. I have a time line to keep me straight, so I don't know how you guys handle the skipping of time.


	12. Chapter 12

"My father is going to kill me..." sighed Akihiko, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. There was a dreadful blankness to his eyes that Misaki could never recall seeing the like of before, not even when they had first met or when Akihiko had been at his most upset. His mouth was pressed in a tight line, jaw cocked up slightly, body tensed as if he was preparing to run. Misaki stared at him, terror oozing down his spinal cord and making his stomach roil nervously. Oh please no, not now, not when everything had been going so well!

"Usagi-san?" He croaked, voice shaking. "Are you all right?"

Akihiko gave him a slow look, blinking in a reptilian fashion and then flicked his legs over the side of the bed. He flinched as his sole pressed onto a toy train and he said, voice syrupy slow and bored, "Interesting decor. I'm surprised I didn't notice this last night."

"Where are you going?" Misaki asked, leaning after the young man.

"Home," he said, noncommittally, picking his way through the gathering of toys on the floor. "Where are my clothes?"

"In your wardrobe!" Misaki exclaimed, nerves getting the better of him. "You live here, don't you remember?" Akihiko's blank look indicated quite clearly that no he did not. "Please, Usagi-san, come back to bed..." He patted the sheets next to him, failing to completely quell the fierce blush that surged up over his cheeks. "Let me explain."

Akihiko gave a low sigh and padded back to the bed. "You're a bit young to be coaxing boys back to your bed, no?" He settled down on the mattress, leaning back against his pillows and crossing his legs - he looked nonchalant and calm, but it was an obviously practiced manoeuvre and Misaki didn't believe it for a second.

"There is no way I coaxed you into my bed," he snapped and then deciding to ignore that for now. "It's more like you dragged me into yours!"

"How would I have done that?" Akihiko asked, blinking weakly. “This isn’t my bedroom.”

Misaki wanted to grab the boy and shake him and scream in his face, to physically force the memories back into that pretty head, but he had the sneaking suspicion it would go down badly. "You honestly can't remember me?" he bleated, "Come on, Usagi-san? Please try?"

"..." Akihiko studied Misaki's face intently and then shrugged. "Sorry, I don't... You must have realised when you brought me home I was probably fairly drunk..?"

Misaki swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. "This is your home... You've just forgotten, there's a disease and it’s difficult to explain but-"

An elegant, long fingered hand was raised and pressed to his mouth. Akihiko shook his head and said, "Sorry. I really don’t have time for this... I need to go."

"No, but-!" Misaki made a lunge, flopping desperately on his belly as Akihiko got up again.

"You seem lovely, but..." He shrugged and smiled, the blankness lifting from his eyes for a brief second, showing a tiny bit of softness beneath. "I don't want to get you in trouble. Thanks for the fun and all that." He looked about again. "So where are my clothes?"

Misaki watched glumly, feeling tongue-tied and miserable, as Akihiko gathered up a collection of clothes from the floor and picked through them thoughtfully. Eventually he chose the most likely pile, and started pulling them on, but when it came to the trousers he seemed to hit a snag; jeans or chinos, neither of them seemed to suit. 

This was his opportunity, Misaki realised, as the young man struggled, and he threw himself onto it with all his might and all of his persuasive skills. Admittedly he was really on a hiding to nothing in that regard, but he had to try something!

“Please,” he said, reaching out just enough to grab Akihiko’s wrist gently. The young man paused in his hunt for clothes, and glanced down briefly – when he flexed his fingers, Misaki could feel the pull and tense of tendons under his grip – before he dropped the t-shirt he was holding. “Please, just stay here. Just for a bit longer. I promise I’ll explain.”

For a long while, Misaki found himself fixed with a sceptical blue gaze, and then Akihiko sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed again. 

“Against my better judgement,” said the young man, running his free hand through his hair, “All right. You’re too cute to say no to.” He paused and added, “Misaki, wasn’t it?” 

Misaki grinned brightly and nodded. “You remember me, right?” he tried, tugging lightly on Akihiko’s wrist again. 

Akihiko glanced away and shrugged. “I… know your name, I think.” He repeated Misaki’s name thoughtfully, and twitched his aristocratic eyebrows. “But that’s it.”

Once again, Misaki’s heart sank. He had hoped that Akihiko would remember him at the very least, but what little memory the teenager had retained he seemed unable to do anything with. While Misaki had been thinking this, the blond had pulled Suzuki-san onto his lap and was pulling the bow straight with a puzzled expression. 

“Suzuki-san,” he said quietly, running a thumb over the gilt edge of the ribbon, immediately looking confused at what had come out of his own mouth. “Right?”

“Right,” said Misaki, letting go of the thin wrist and scrunching his palms to his face. He was trying to organise his thoughts well enough that he could explain them and they would make sense. No matter how hard he tried, though, it was all highly nonsensical. Usagi-san wasn’t going to take this well. 

Misaki explained. Or at least tried to. In the end, it was all just as confusing as Misaki had suspected it was going to be – Akihiko sat very still and continued to stroke Suzuki-san’s golden fur in a hypnotised fashion, listening intently. The student went over the details as best he could, recounting the long start to the symptoms and how shocked they’d both been and how they’d worked the situation out the best they could. When he finished, he looked hopefully at Akihiko, smiling in an encouraging fashion. 

“And what were we to each other? Before all this…” Akihiko tweaked one of the giant bear’s small ears and leant his head forward against the bear’s fluffy cranium. 

Misaki flushed and took a deep breath, mouth moving silently for a second, before he deflated in a defeated manner and said in the quietest voice possible, “We were lovers.”

“Oh.” Akihiko nuzzled the bear for a second and then raised his head and looked at Misaki directly. “You’re completely insane,” he said, calmly. “Very nice, but absolutely nuts. And I know crazy.”

It was said with such honest conviction that Misaki was almost too taken aback to be taken aback. He sat stunned for a moment, knowing he was seconds from bursting into tears and trying to quell the urge to cry – it had been his only option, to explain everything well, and it hadn’t worked. Akihiko didn’t seem intent on leaving anymore, true, but equally he hadn’t suddenly recalled anything and declared it all a purely temporary blip. 

“You look like you’re going to cry,” said Akihiko. 

Misaki blanched and rolled off his side of the bed so the boy couldn’t see his face anymore. “Let’s have breakfast.”

* * *

Cooking was Misaki’s time. When he was standing over a chopping board or stirring a pot, that was his thinking space. It was like the kitchen freed his brain from all the little niggling worries and nonsenses of real life and just let it run free and happy through all the thoughts a brain could ever want to have. 

And with a teenaged Akihiko, stalking about the penthouse and peering curiously at everything like it was all from a different planet, Misaki had a lot to think about. 

He didn’t know what else to do right now, except cook. Food was always a good way of keeping Usagi-san placid and tame, and Misaki didn’t know how long this Akihiko would remain as calm as he was right now. Part of him was fairly well convinced that a teenaged Akihiko would be infinitely worse tempered than the grown-up version. After all, Misaki himself had been a fairly pleasant teenager when he had been a few years younger, but had thrown his fair share of strops despite this. A grumpy and teenaged Akihiko was simply asking for trouble, and there were only two ways of soothing the man. Since Misaki wasn’t about to seduce a fifteen year old boy, he had resorted to the option of food. 

They ate in silence, Akihiko still considering each piece of food with a vague sort of expression before he took a bite. Misaki nibbled at his eggs and watched his tablemate over his fork, still thinking hard.

His other problem was one that really didn’t bear thinking about – Akihiko was so blasé about waking up in another man’s bed while he was only fifteen. What sort of a life had Akihiko led in those fifteen years that he thought that sort of thing was normal – it was all very, very strange and Misaki didn’t like it one bit. This thought so occupied his brain that he had barely eaten anything by the time Akihiko downed his cutlery and thanked Misaki for the meal. He excused himself from the table politely, and went off to nose around again; Misaki was so intent on thinking that he didn’t notice the boy padding back upstairs and disappearing into the study until it was too late. 

Usagi-san had always kept copies of his novels in his bookshelves, unread and liable to remain so forever. When Misaki hurtled into the study, shirt liberally dampened with the tea he’d just spat out in horror, the teenaged Akihiko was holding two of them and staring at the covers. 

“What is this?” he asked, voice no longer soft and polite, but calling back to his brusque adult tones. 

Misaki laughed nervously and tried to take one of the novels away, so he could use it as a distraction as he spoke, but Akihiko yanked it back. He was starting to look distinctly annoyed: chin raised, eyes narrowed, lips curling up in a sneer. 

“Well?” he demanded. 

“You wrote them,” Misaki mumbled, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t feeling threatened. “You’re an author, a good one! Um, even if Aikawa-san has to come and beat you to make you actually do any writing.” He attempted another laugh, but the look on Akihiko’s face made even the weak effort at humour dry up in his throat. 

It was the blank face, the shut-down face, the face that aggravated Misaki so much and upset him even more. Except it was worse than that; it was vacancy rather than blankness, like all higher processes behind it had fled, and left a shell behind. 

“But I haven’t written these,” said Akihiko, a sudden tremor in his voice, “I would remember writing these.”

An idea struck and Misaki grabbed one of the other novels still languishing on the shelf. It was a recent release, and Usagi-san had confessed to Misaki the only reason it had gotten published on time was because he had written the first half of the story when he had been much younger. Now, he flicked a few pages in and held the book out hopefully; Akihiko was reluctant to take it, but did so anyway. He read a few lines slowly, and frowned. 

“This is…” He looked at the cover and then back up at Misaki. “I don’t… What is..?” For a second, the boy was obviously upset, but it all crumbled back down into vacancy again just as quickly. “How did you get this?”

Misaki gave up; there was a sinister little realisation lurking on the edge of his brain that needed attending to, and there was no way he was ever going to manage to pacify Akihiko now. No, what he had just realised was painful indeed -the vacant expression, the one which overrode all the fear and confusion, was there for one of two reasons. Either Akihiko was struggling to handle the sheer weirdness of the situation, or, and Misaki was somehow sure it was this one, he was simply reacting horribly to someone else being able to read his stories. Those very same stories were the ones he would write when he was alone and unhappy and bottling up all of his misery because no one had ever taught him how to cope with those feelings positively. That face was the hallmark of years of emotional neglect coming to the fore, and Misaki’s whole body ached with the idea that he had ever done anything to add extra unhappiness to that load. 

His voice quavered when he said, “Let’s have some tea,” and turned to traipse downstairs. For the fourth time in a couple of hours, he had to struggle not to cry. This time, though, Akihiko was less sympathetic to his wretchedness, and stalked close behind him, badgering him incessantly about why he owned such a book. 

“You still haven’t answered me. How on earth did you get this!” He dropped the novel onto the kitchen counter with a resounding slap, making Misaki jump and nearly spill boiling water over his hands. Irrational anger welled up inside the student, and he had to take a deep breath and remind himself to be calm. “Tell me! What are you doing with these-“

“Would you be quiet for a second? You aren’t the only person here who’s confused!” Misaki cut the boy off, snapping in spectacular fashion and clenching his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. 

Akihiko’s look shot from the empty expression back to the cross scowl and onto a startled frown within seconds. His look of surprise was especially affronted and Misaki demanded to know what was wrong now. 

“Nothing,” said Akihiko, voice wobbling slightly as he picked up the novel and flipped through a few pages. “It’s just being snapped at by you was a bit surprising.” He paused and added, “Like being savaged by a sheep.”

There wasn’t much Misaki could say to that, and he retired from the immediate vicinity of the teenager before someone got a black eye. At least the man’s ability to be snide remained untouched by his amnesia.

* * *

With Akihiko settled on the sofa, nose stuck in one of his own novels, Misaki fluttered around helplessly for a few minutes and then lunged for the phone. He’d call the doctor immediately and tell her the bad news and beg for assistance. And then maybe Aikawa-san… Or should he call Aikawa-san first, to give her extra time to get here? His fingers hovered over the keypad anxiously, his teeth grinding into his lower lip as he struggled to choose. 

At that moment, the door buzzer went; its strident tones made Misaki jump so violently he dropped the phone, and Akihiko looked up with a vaguely concerned sort of expression. Misaki had to remind himself that of course the young man would be worried – he was still in a strange place, with a strange person, and someone else was apparently being added to the mix. The phone was left abandoned and Misaki went to the door, hammering one of his fingers hard on the answer key when the buzzer rang again. 

“Yes?” he squawked, voice higher than normal as the picture from the camera downstairs coalesced. It seemed to take his brain a long time to translate the sight and trigger the appropriate recognition, even though the man standing outside the front door was all too familiar. 

“Takahashi-kun!” smiled Usami Fuyuhiko, “Be good and let me in, would you? I want to have another little chat with my son.”

Behind him, Misaki heard Akihiko’s nails scrape across the cover of the book he was reading, and he lowered his head in misery and guilt as he pressed the button that unlocked the front door. At this point, despite all of his best efforts and his begging and his persuasion, he knew his cause was screwed. There was no way in hell a normal Usagi-san would want to return home with his father, but the situation had rapidly spiralled out of Misaki’s hands and now he couldn’t prevent it. Desperation almost prompted him to grab Akihiko’s hand and drag him out of the penthouse: make a run for the stairs, bolt out of the lobby and hope Usami Fuyuhiko’s secretary and driver weren’t paying too much attention. 

“You still haven’t explained why my name’s on this book,” said Akihiko softly. Misaki turned about to see the young man folding the cover down flat, running his fingertips over the raised characters of his name. 

“…” Misaki opened his mouth to try and explain again, or at least lie massively and hope Akihiko wouldn’t question it too much, but the heavy knock of a big fist on the door stopped him. He shrugged weakly and opened the lock, slumping away to the sanctity of his kitchen before Usagi-chichi came in. This position gave him the perfect angle to watch the blank look on the boy’s face shrivel down into pure vacancy once more, just before his father spoke. 

“I think this time we’ll perhaps dispense with the shouting, and you can just get your things and get downstairs, hmm?” 

“Yes, father.” Akihiko placed the book carefully on the coffee table, and got up. He glanced about for a second, before his father snapped at him to hurry himself along, and then trod up the stairs to the bedroom on silent feet. Misaki bit his lip again as the bedroom door opened and closed behind the boy, and he was left alone with Usami Fuyuhiko. 

“It’s strange how these things work, isn’t it?” said the man, adjusting his coat lapels with an absent hand. “Just two days ago, he was adamant that he wasn’t going anywhere with me.”

A suspicion popped up in Misaki’s brain, and he narrowed his eyes. “How did you know what had happened?” he question sharply, ignoring his natural fear of the man. If someone had bugged his home, he was going to have words with them no matter who they were and how scary he found them.

“The doctor called me, and informed me that he would probably be experiencing amnesia by now; something to do with the brain.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m still listed as his next of kin, you see.”

“But why would she call you if-“ Misaki’s eyes fell on the disconnected phone cable and he groaned. Usami Fuyuhiko followed his gaze and sucked in a sympathetic breath. 

“Ah. Unfortunate for you, I suppose.” He smiled briefly and with only a little warmth. Misaki couldn’t have hated a person more at that moment even if he had tried. “Nevertheless, Akihiko will be coming home with me, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to invite you to stay away.”

Misaki felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the muscles in his legs tense and relax as if preparing for a headlong sprint; there was a cord of steel in Usami Fuyuhiko voice when he spoke now, no longer hidden under the cheery smiles and general strangeness. 

“I am Akihiko’s father, Takahashi-kun, and I am therefore responsible for him while he is so… indisposed, shall we say. Returning home and attempting to live a normal life with his family will undoubtedly be the best thing for him; I cannot in good conscience let my son roam around Tokyo freely.”

Misaki had to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself saying something rash, and hissed out, “He didn’t want to go home.”

This time the smile was magnificently condescending; spectacularly so even to Misaki, who had seen many such smiles on Akihiko’s face before. “What Akihiko thinks he wants and what he actually needs are, unfortunately, very often polar opposites. He never really accepted that his parents would ever know better than him – I suspect this will have to change this time around.”

“This isn’t something you can use to get him into line,” Misaki bleated, “If he’s forgotten all that stuff, it means he’s really ill! You can’t confine him to the house - he needs to go to-“

“Ah, Akihiko!” Usagi-chichi interrupted smoothly, glancing up at the balcony as his son reappeared. “You took your time.”

The boy didn’t reply, but traipsed down the stairs and stopped reluctantly beside his father. From there, Misaki noticed, it was a clean run to the door; if he moved now, he could drag Akihiko out of there easily. Somehow, Usami Fuyuhiko must have figured out what he was thinking, and clamped a big hand on his son’s thin shoulder. Akihiko’s face twitched only slightly. 

“We’ll be going now, Takahashi-kun.” Usami Fuyuhiko made to wheel his son out of the door, but sheer terror spurred Misaki’s brain into gear again, and he leapt in front of them. “What now?”

“Um. Ah.” He looked about, eyes wildly flitting about the room until they fell on the coat rack. “Ah! His coat! Can’t go without his coat! It’s cold outside! Spring time and all!” He laughed nervously, closing his eyes to hide the man’s bored expression and snatched his own jacket from the rack. It was the work of a few fumbling seconds to drop his mobile phone into one of the pockets, before he handed it over to Akihiko, who slung it on with only a moment’s hesitation. “All right, I guess you can go now.” Misaki sidled aside, trying to look as innocent and miserable as possible, even though he was crowing triumphantly inside. “If you must.”

Usami Fuyuhiko gave a snort of laughter, picked up the corner of the jacket and tipped the phone out onto the floor. It skittered and bounced on the hardwood, three pairs of eyes following it until it fetched up against a sideboard; one indifferent, one curious and one utterly crushed. 

“I,” Usagi-chichi said, “Am neither stupid nor blind. Don’t try anything like that again, please. It’s frankly embarrassing to watch.”

They left without another word, and Misaki sat down on the floor to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and angsty. Just like myself. =D
> 
> We're into the depths of actual plot here! Hurrah! I hope you enjoyed the twist at the start!
> 
> The 'savaged by a sheep' line is something I've come across in my past reading, and it will not leave me alone. I'm fairly sure it was from a Terry Pratchett Discworld novel, and came with the context that it's not all that startling to be bitten by a ravening wolf, but when a sheep bites you, you're going to be shocked. There's also a well-known quote about by a British politician, who said that being criticised by a member of the opposing party was 'like being savaged by a dead sheep.' In other words, the minister sucked at bitching someone out.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

While waking up in another man’s bed, with little idea of how he got there, wasn’t exactly common place for Akihiko, it had happened often enough for him to be fairly blasé about it. Especially since the man he had so evidently slept with was a delicious looking creature indeed and had asked so nicely for Akihiko to stay. Ignoring his impending death by an angry father, Akihiko had had little choice but to say yes. 

In the end, it had turned out that Misaki – whose name Akihiko did not remember but somehow knew in a deep and visceral sort of manner – was evidently not sane. He had spun some sort of idiot story about them being lovers and Akihiko really being in his thirties but seeming much younger because of some silly sounding disease. This collection of books with Akihiko’s name on them – and the realisation that he had indeed written some of the content – was the final straw, and the part of Akihiko’s brain that had never been very well tacked down had gone ‘twang’ and all superior thought processes had flitted away. 

When his father had turned up, seriously surprisingly Misaki but not eliciting the fear Akihiko thought was probably deserved, the boy had found himself feeling bizarrely angry. Normally after a tryst he would feel sort of empty, sad and guilty. But when he’d been towed out of the penthouse, he’d felt violated and there had been a twinge he could only think of as homesickness. 

“How’re you feeling?” asked his father, as the car pulled away from the curb. Akihiko blinked, trying to arrange his thoughts, and shrugged. “Hmm. I don’t suppose you remember,” the man continued, “But you managed to fetch yourself a bit of a bump to the head the other day… You might not be recalling things correctly.”

Admittedly, Akihiko was feeling strange. His head ached, his stomach was in knots with confused tension and everything looked weird. His father’s face was much more lined than he ever remembered it being; the man seemed stockier as well, and his hair was peppered with dark grey hairs. The car was one Akihiko had never seen before and was exceptionally plush, while the driver was a total stranger. Out of the window, Tokyo had changed too, and Akihiko nearly sprained his neck trying to look at everything. 

It got worse. Of course it did.

* * *

The mansion had more cracks in it than normal, a distinctly different coat of paint on the doors and window-frames, and the gardens were all new, planted with shrubs and trees Akihiko had never seen before in his life. Tanaka – trusty, unchanging, stable Tanaka-san – had grown several mysterious years older, and Akihiko found that most disturbing of all until he had noticed Alexander. His great, gambolling puppy was a grey-muzzled, solemn adult dog, and barely reacted to his master’s yelp of distress. 

“I didn’t happen to fall into some sort of coma when I bumped my head?” he asked, stroking one of the dog’s silky ears and smiling weakly when a damp nose was pressed to his wrist. 

“Maybe you should go to your room and relax for the rest of the day,” his father had said, “Some tea will help to calm you down, right Tanaka?”

“Yes, sir,” the butler said, bowing slightly. Akihiko clenched his teeth at the sheer obviousness of his father’s behaviour and reluctantly left his dog to trail upstairs to his room. 

At least this was relatively unchanged – there were a few books on the shelves he didn’t recognise, and, worryingly, his notebooks were mostly gone – and the familiarity soothed him somewhat. He tossed his coat over a chair and kicked off his shoes in the vague direction of his cupboard, throwing himself onto his bed seconds later. The mattress rolled in that alarming fashion he had grown used to, and the frame creaked and shuddered until he lay still.

* * *

The moment Akihiko discovered he was locked in his room was a highly unpleasant one indeed, and he spent a few minutes hunting through his drawers for the keys he was sure he had had at some point. They were nowhere to be found, and no one seemed to be attracted to his room by his calls for help and knocking. He was seriously considering using the windows as an escape option, when a key ground in the lock and Tanaka-san stepped in.

"Are you all right, Akihiko-sama?" He smiled, slightly nervously, and Akihiko narrowed his eyes in immediate suspicion.

"I just wanted someone to open the door," he said, trying to ease his way past. It was a rare person who dared to put their hands on him, so when Tanaka-san gently pushed him back into the room, Akihiko was sent into a confused silence.

The butler bowed shallowly and apologised. "Your father has set out orders that you are not to leave your room at all. He is afraid you will forget what you are doing or where you are going," he explained, "He told you last night, don't you remember?"

Akihiko was fairly sure could remember everything that had happened last night - he'd picked his way through a suddenly highly unappetising meal much to the despair of his father and then spent most of the night unable to sleep, prowling back and forth around his room. At no point had he actually had a conversation with his father that involved him being locked in for his own safety. Although perhaps not being able to remember it was a sign that his father had had legitimate worries. One look at Tanaka-san's face made it abundantly clear that that was not the case at all - the man always looked so guilt-ridden whenever he had to lie to someone, and Akihiko had spent five years learning how to read him like a book. Someone was lying to him.

"No, I don't," he said, tartly, throwing himself onto his bed instead and burying his face in the pillow. It still smelt musty - like his bed sheets had been sitting in a hot press for a long time -, the scent easy to detect even under the smell of the unfamiliar washing powder. Akihiko could almost feel himself breaking out in hives at the thought of it.

"Sorry, Akihiko-sama," said the butler again. He was looking longingly towards the door now, and asked, "Is there anything I can fetch you to make being in here more palatable to you?"

For a moment, Akihiko was tempted to be unkind and reel off a list of difficult and unnecessary things, but in the end he sighed and muttered "Something to drink, please."

"I'll bring it up directly, young master." The butler was already gone before Akihiko could even grunt his thanks.

* * *

Silence reigned supreme in the Usami household, the mansion all but empty and the thick forest surroundings swallowing the noise of the city around them. 

Akihiko sat on his windowsill and wished for more noise to remind himself that he wasn’t alone in the world, and a pack of cigarettes to crushed the niggling worried feeling in the back of his head in a nicotine stained claw. It had been two days now since he had been retrieved and reinstalled back into the mansion, and the situation had been growing gradually more intolerable as time went on. 

Never mind the fact he was locked in his room, he felt weird. Wrong. His brain desperately wanted him to be somewhere else but didn’t seemed to known where exactly that was. Whenever he tried to pinpoint it his heart rate would leap and flutter, his stomach would twist and his sinuses throbbed. He felt like he was going insane. 

What he wanted to do, aside from purchase several packs of cigarettes, was talk to Hiroki. Not necessarily about his concerns of insanity but just in general. His friend’s view of the world was so refreshingly blunt and honest, it was like a drink of cool water after the tart and treacly intrigues of his own family. Hiroki would snap at him for being away for so long – Akihiko could almost see the annoyed flick of hair as Hiroki tossed his head – and then tell him he was an idiot for getting hurt in the first place. Maybe, if Akihiko was lucky and Hiroki in a benevolent enough mood, he might even check on Akihiko’s current state of health. The longer Akihiko was away without explanation though, the less likely this became, and judging by the grey hairs on Tanaka’s previously sable hairline, Akihiko wasn’t in luck this time. 

Akihiko’s mind abruptly drifted back to these strange changes. The butler, the mansion, the dog and his father were all clearly much older than they should have been. There were big trees in the garden he could recall vividly as mere saplings being levered into the ground. Nothing was the same, and yet his father insisted it was all the same still. 

Akihiko was just hoping Hiroki was still the same. Without his constant companion he would be lost entirely.

* * *

The tears overwhelmed Misaki for hours, and he couldn’t even move off the floor where he had collapsed for the bone shaking sobs. He hadn’t cried like this for years, not since his brother had delivered the terrible news about his parents on that rainy day. It was a struggle to remind himself that Akihiko was merely in another house and amnesiac rather than dead, but Misaki managed it and hauled himself to his feet. 

He made it to the drinks cabinet and grabbed the bottle closest to the door, knocking back a few mouthfuls in quick succession and gasping as the alcohol burnt down his throat. Through tear blurred eyes he squinted at the label, found the spirit to be whisky and then burst back into tears again. This was Usagi-san’s whisky, one had favoured particularly, and the reminder that Misaki’s lover was gone from his care seared through his chest, burning him from the inside like it was a liquor as well. 

The lure of an alcoholic stupor called out to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch any more. This was Usagi-san’s whisky after all, and Misaki just wanted to keep everything that belonged to the man as it was, just in case… 

Just in case of what though? He tucked the bottle back down and looked over at the phone, the cord still loose below the socket. The doctor had called Usagi-chichi instead of them, but what was she saying? It was evidently bad news, despite the blasé nature of the older man’s appearance. Akihiko needed to get to hospital as soon as possible, but would his father take him? Misaki couldn’t be sure that he would, and that was an even bigger problem that having the man taken away from him. Maybe, just maybe, he would grow to be all right with Akihiko enjoying a new childhood and possible re-growing into a happier and saner adult, but he could never be fine with the thought of Akihiko dying from this disease, young and incapable of understanding what was happening to him. 

Something would have to be done.

* * *

Dinner was something so intensely unappealing that Akihiko couldn’t bring himself to eat a bite. He had been left in his room to eat, but after discovering his appetite was non-existent he had retreated to his windowsill again; part of him kind of hoped that staring out of the window pathetically would eke out a bit more sympathy from the butler and maybe earn him a brief respite from his captivity. 

After the untouched food had been cleared from his table – just slightly too late, Akihiko became aware that maybe eating the food would have gotten him into Tanaka-san’s good books more than looking like a consumptive waif– he was left alone again. He sulked this time, because nothing else seemed to have gotten him any further. 

The draughts slipping around the window, still slightly skewed after he had accidentally slammed it shut in a temper and bent the metal frame, drove him from his perch not long after the sun had fully set. He was preparing to hop into bed with a book he didn’t recall reading before when something bounced off the glass with a resounding ‘toink’ noise. 

He froze for a second, listening hard for anyone in the corridor outside his room, and then darted to the window. The curtains he’d just hauled shut moments earlier, so he saved his energy and just stuck his head through. For a moment he could see nothing except lawn and shrubs, and he was just about to retreat when something else struck the window. The little pebble settled on the outer sill and Akihiko slipped through the curtains properly, heaving the window fully open and leaning out as far as he dared. 

He had been hoping that it was Hiroki demanding his attention, but the person who inched their way out of the bushes was a fair substitute. 

The young man half crouched in the shrubbery below was the same one from those couple days earlier, the one his father had treated so nicely for a man who had just fucked his fifteen year old son. Akihiko’s heart gave a happy throb at the sight of him and he wondered why – was it the utter loveliness of his doe-like green eyes, pixie-ish face and petite litheness, or his air of innocent determination. Whatever the answer, Akihiko opened the window and stuck his head out. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, glancing up and down the side of the house. Just because his father had been lenient before didn’t mean it was likely to happen again. Akihiko had been on the receiving end of only one of his father’s punches, fuelled by alcohol on both ends, and had no wish to repeat the experience and little to make him hope this suitor would share the joy. Even Tanaka-san could cut a formidable pose – if pushed – and the Usami family employed a great number of men and women with no discernible talent bar that for violence. Mind you, this man had apparently been stalking him and had followed him home… “How did you get here?”

“We really need to talk!” The young man looked so anxious that Akihiko almost agreed then and there, but natural caution drew him back. 

“About what?”

“Us! You! What’s happening right now!”

“What’s happening right now is some guy I slept with once has followed me home and I’ve found myself in some Shakespearean romance.” He added, “And there you go with that ‘us’ business again.”

The stranger growled and snapped, “Look, just come down and talk to me. You haven’t been given all the information, and I need to tell you this stuff.”

“As thrilling as that sounds, I can’t. I’m locked in.”

“Locked in?!” The young man caught himself as he blurted out the exclamation. He continued, more softly, “See, why would they lock you in?”

Akihiko winced slightly. Several good reasons, including the smoking, drinking and the underage sex. But, it was true that this was the first time he’d been locked in for an extended period and Tanaka-san was starting to give him the sympathetic looks he normally reserved for when Akihiko’s mother was being particularly obstreperous. Perhaps something was up. Perhaps the stranger just wanted another shag. Akihiko was probably not going to say no, especially if he was taken back to that nice penthouse the stranger lived in. 

“All right,” he sighed, turning his head to contemplate his room. “I’ll come down. Wait there.”

If he was lucky no one had noticed the loose piece of skirting board behind one of his chests of drawers. Now, he heaved the heavy furniture out of the way and jabbed his short nails around the edge of the skirting board. With some difficulty he pried it out and scrabbled behind for the little scrap of fabric. 

“Ha!” He unrolled the fabric on top of the drawers and ran his fingers along the assorted wires and screwdrivers that had been wrapped within. It had taken him a short while to collect them, but much longer to work out how to use them. Now he was proficient in picking the old locks in the mansion, but today, of all the days for it to happen, he was feeling a bit rusty. 

It was the work of a few difficult minutes, prying and poking at the inside of the lock until he heard the mechanism ratchet up and the door swung inwards slightly under its own weight. With a triumphant smile on his face, Akihiko carefully stowed the little wires and screwdriver back behind the skirting board and slipped out into the corridor. 

Long ago he had memorised every squeaky board in the mansion, so it was easy to move silently down the hallway and scurry downstairs. Briefly, he paused outside Tanaka-san’s room and listened for the man’s presence within – he could hear soft footsteps on carpet and someone muttering to himself quietly – before he moved on. 

The back door was on the hallway by the kitchen, and Akihiko took a brief detour to pick up the key, unlock the door and then return it to its peg by the kitchen door. The servants were the only ones to use the back door normally, and Tanaka-san had to unlock it every morning for them to enter and then lock it again when they left at night. Akihiko paused again to listen for anyone, and then crept into the darkness beyond the door. 

Outside was unpleasantly chilly, chasing shivers up and down Akihiko’s spine, but he didn’t move off immediately. Instead he stood against the wall and stared up at the sky until his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he could see his way around. He followed the path that led to the side of the house, pausing at every corner to peer around and inspect the windows above him for any sign of life. There was nothing until his nose caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, fresh and thick, and he pressed himself into the wall, holding his breath and hoping he wouldn’t be spotted. He waited anxiously for minutes until embarrassed realisation dawned and he crept forward again, peering at the ground until he spotted what he was looking for – a discarded cigarette butt. Despite his straight-laced appearance, Tanaka-san smoked like a chimney. Whenever the family was in bed, in the early morning or late at night, the butler would stand outside and suck down cigarettes like a man trying to wash a bad taste out of his mouth. Akihiko had seen the man smoking a few times, and had always gone away from the sight feeling quite guilty. 

He brushed the cigarette butt into the flowerbed with a sweep of his foot, and padded on, rounding the side of the house and creeping down the line of shrubbery on cat-quiet feet.

* * *

Misaki had watched the window clunk shut, the curtains snap closed and the crack of light around the edge of the window vanish. He had huddled down in the shrubs and strained his ears desperately for any approaching noise. He was just waiting for Alexander to start barking, or a security guard to patrol past on rounds, but thankfully all seemed silent bar the rustle of trees and the soft noises of a nocturnal forest. Bats flitted overhead, swooping over the lawns, huddling up under the eaves then darting away again; night birds called mournfully and something small and chittery wandered across the smart lawn like a sailor home from the pub, all rolling walk and unsteady path. Misaki had wrapped up well, but remaining still for so long allowed the cold to nip through his many layers and he was shivering violently with nerves and the chill before long. 

It had been a long two days ever since he had decided he had to do something. He had been too shocked still to think straight for most of the first day, spending that eating massive amounts of junk food and watching stupid television, but the decision to kidnap Akihiko back somehow had been well and truly stuck in there. He had collected and scrounged all necessary items and then set off that afternoon, taking the train and bus out to the leafy suburb where the Usami mansion dwarfed all, and had cloistered himself in the forest for a good four hours before enough darkness had fallen. Before creeping off, he had left his rucksack tucked under a small bush, and then tried to mark a path through the trees. Hopefully he would be able to find his way back. If not, they’d have to walk home. 

The chittery creature suddenly broke into a headlong dash to the treeline and a small cloud of bats fled from the overhand of the rood. A footstep on gravel, and then another. Misaki held his breath and then released it in a rush when Akihiko hissed, “Well?”

“You came!” he breathed, unbelievably delighted to see the young man again. He looked thinner, somehow, and paler, and he seemed even more mistrusting than he had done at the penthouse – being in the Usami mansion evidently did not suit him well. 

“I did. Now what?”

Misaki steeled his spine and reached out, taking one long fingered hand gently, like he was stroking a frightened animal. “Please come back with me. I know I said a lot of things before that were hard to believe, but I can prove them. I promise. Even if you don’t believe me then, it’ll get you away from the house?” He added softly, “I won’t hurt you.”

Akihiko looked at him, a suspicious tinge in his eyes, and then glanced up at his window again. “You’ll get in trouble with my father.”

Misaki nodded, sadly, feeling himself shudder in fear at the thought. Nevertheless this had to be done.

“He’s not a nice man,” advised the boy. 

“I know,” said Misaki, meaning it fully, “But you’re important to me.” His blush surged up immediately and squeezed his throat closed, leaving him to fume impotently. Akihiko watched this for a second or two, and then did something surprising. He giggled and leant forward to kiss Misaki on the cheek. 

“All right,” he said, looking about with renewed curiosity, “How do we get back to your house then?” He squeezed Misaki’s hand, and it was just as comforting as when the adult version had done it. 

Misaki blinked back his tears, and smiled in a wobbly fashion. “Follow me.”

* * *

Stepping into the penthouse again sent a wave of contentment over Akihiko, and he slung the borrowed coat up, having to hop slightly to catch the collar on a peg. Behind him he distinctly heard Misaki give a strangled laugh, but he decided to ignore it in favour of padding to the sofa and curling down on the seat.

Misaki left him sitting there to fuss around in the kitchen and returned with a couple glasses of lemonade; Akihiko gratefully took his glass and sipped happily as the young man went upstairs and returned with a sheaf of paper under his arm.

"Right," he said, a look of such determination on his pretty face that Akihiko's mouth immediately went dry despite the amount of lemonade he was in the process of swallowing. Misaki hopped onto the cushion next to Akihiko and slapped his armful of bumf down between them. "Before he were so rudely interrupted," he sniffed, "I was telling you about the Russian Syndrome."

"The one you made up?" Asked Akihiko mildly, not bothering to flinch when Misaki exclaimed that he had not made it up and slapped a palm down on the small hill of paper.

"These," he said, "will prove that I have not been making things up. Look at this one." He pushed a pamphlet towards Akihiko, who took it obediently and scanned down the first page. Then the second. Then the third. Finally, he checked the back, peering slightly short-sightedly at the publishers name in fine print at the bottom. Misaki made a noise of realisation and darted off again as Akihiko took another pamphlet from the pile and started to read it. It was tricky going until a pair of glasses were dropped on top of what he was trying to read. The frames were slightly too large for his head and dangled precariously at the end of his nose, while the lenses were just a bit too strong for his needs, but it made the fine print legible enough.

All of the information was the utter bollocks Misaki had been trying to convince him of just two days ago, but the publishers were all important – the Red Cross, the World Health Organisation, the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare, even one from Mitsuhashi university - and the pamphlets were professionally printed. It made Akihiko's conviction wobble slightly, but then he told himself to wise up, that a person that could afford to live in a penthouse like this could also afford to have such things made properly and quickly if he needed. He huffed, slightly angry at himself for almost being taken in, and put them down, folding the glasses on top of the pile.

"Nice try," he said.

Misaki growled and lunged for another pile on the coffee table, this one made of newspapers, stuffing a couple chosen ones into Akihiko's lap and nearly making him spill lemonade down himself. "Keep reading!"

The glasses were shoved back on his face, and the lemonade wrenched out of his grasp; Akihiko waited a few moments just to make a point that he wasn't pleased with how he was being treated, and then read the headline on the Asahi Shimbun, scanning through the article below quickly and finding himself thoroughly distracted by the picture, of two young girls, one in a garden and one in a hospital bed, and a young woman. He was about to tell Misaki that it was all very flattering, but mostly quite creepy, that he was prepared to go to such effort to try and fool him when the young man turned the television on and changed the channel to a 24 hour news network.

And there was this stupid disease again, the anchors chatting with a doctor about this Russian Syndrome. Akihiko took the remote - a very fancy affair, he noted, and flicked up and down a few channels. None of them he recognised, and all of them had the date and time in the corner and it was never a date that Akihiko thought it was. Up until this point he had been fairly secure in his knowledge that it was still the nineties, but this news seemed to be broadcasting from a different millennium entirely.

"Do you see now?" asked Misaki. Akihiko ignored him, leaning forward and changing the channel back to the original network.

"Yes, some people, very rarely, may lose their memory and regress further," the doctor was saying in a put upon voice, "But I must emphasise it is very, very rare. In Japan, we have so far only had a couple deaths from this syndrome. In Europe and America, the numbers are higher of course, but that is more to do with the ethnic makeup of the populace."

Akihiko swallowed nervously and sat back. Now, there was a thought. He was not actually fifteen then, but whatever age this man claimed he was? And they really were lovers? And he got to live in this penthouse, and theoretically a didn't have to go back to that hateful mansion?

"Um, Usagi-san? Are you all right?" Misaki asked, voice tremulous all of a sudden. Akihiko realised with a jolt that that voice was just as adorable as the determined voice, perhaps even more so and was about to say as much when the words changed shape just as they reached his mouth.

'I think I'm going to be sick," he said. 

His stomach lurched unpleasantly, and he just made it to the sink in time to vomit up a mouthful of bile. His muscles locked into spasm, leaving him gasping fruitlessly for any breath while it felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. Misaki stroked his back soothingly, until the wave of nausea passed and he was able to slump forward against the counter and gasp for air. He distantly heard Misaki washing the sink down and then a glass of water was pressed to his lips. He rinsed his mouth out, but couldn't bring himself to stand up properly - his heart was going a mile a minute in his chest: he hated throwing up with a passion, to the point where it almost made him ill again to even think about it.

Slowly, the spasms died away, and his knees threatened to give even more. It was like someone had ripped a giant scab off part of his brain, leaving sore spots open to the world. He believed what Misaki had said now, but it made no sense and it hurt somehow. He had been lied to, not that that was anything new of course but it rankled. Only Misaki had told him the truth, and only Misaki was here to hold him upright and gently lead him away from the sink and towards the stairs.

* * *

Akihiko retired to the bedroom, let Misaki tuck him into the bed - which was still fantastically comfortable and pleasantly familiar, because it was a bed that he'd chosen rather than a bed he'd been randomly given - and tried to rest. His head was aching again, his throat and stomach hurt, and his whole body was shaking. Part of him longed to go back to the mansion, despite how much he hated it there, and let Tanaka-san fuss over him, but the rest of him declared that staying here was a much better plan, because her he wasn't being locked into rooms and he had Misaki to act as nursemaid.

With the young man sitting on the edge of the bed and petting his hair, Akihiko found sleep suddenly calling on him. He wriggled deeper into the familiar smelling sheets and closed his eyes obediently. Within seconds he was fast asleep.

* * *

It was difficult to tell what time of day it was when Akihiko woke, his eyes filmed over with the grey fuzziness of sleep still, so he lay still and tried to focus his brain. When he had woken he had immediately thought he was back in the mansion again, but sense had returned to him quickly and he remembered he was in Misaki's bed. His own, technically, although that thought made his headache again.

Soft noise crept under the door, and the blond boy stilled his breathing for a second to better hear it. There were raised voices downstairs - Akihiko had long since adapted his hearing to detect shouting as a priority over all other speech - suddenly hushed. The big bay windows were rolled back and then closed again, and Akihiko counted to thirty before he eased himself out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Out on the balcony he could see that the main floor of the penthouse was empty, but there was a pair of figures out on the terrace, evidently having a rather vicious argument. One of them was Misaki, Akihiko realised with a dull throb of pain, and he was nearly in tears. And of course, the other was Akihiko's father, endeavouring to look sympathetic but in reality only managing condescending. He was giving Misaki a stern lecture evidently, the rumble of his voice slightly louder than normal and the young man was trembling until the onslaught.

Akihiko had never liked being lectured by his man because, aside from the obvious reasons, the man had an unerring talent for making him feel like utter scum. Misaki had only tried to help, and now he was on the end of this ability and it wasn't fair. Akihiko wasn't going to have someone victimised because they were trying to tell him the truth, but it was fairly obvious that he couldn't return to the mansion without Misaki trying to persuade him back again. There was bound to be somewhere he could go that would give him some space to think over what was happening.

He padded back into the bedroom and got dressed quickly. As he straightened from tying his shoe laces, he noticed a dark rectangle of glass resting on one of the bedside tables and picked it up curiously. It was much the same thing as that which Misaki had tried to slip into his pocket the first time his father had dragged him off, and Akihiko poked the single button on the front in a hopeful manner. It lit up, asking for a password, and Akihiko's fingers seemed to move on their own accord, typing in '1988'. The thing unlocked, and it only took Akihiko a few seconds to realise it was some sort of phone, with capabilities he didn't think a phone should have. He flipped through the contacts list until his eye alighted on a name he recognised acutely, then he swiftly pocketed the device.

His father and Misaki were still too busy arguing to notice Akihiko sneak down the stairs, pluck his coat from the peg and slip out of the door. He bypassed the lift and went for the stairs instead - his father's men would be lurking in the lobby, and taking a less central route would make it easier for him to slip away unnoticed. In fact he followed the stairs down a level too far, and ended up sneaking out through the underground garage, jumping the entrance barrier.

For a moment he paused, trying to orient himself in this part of the city. He wasn't entirely sure where he was, or how he was going to get anywhere without any money, but it was open out here, and refreshing. A breeze was blowing coolly down the streets and Akihiko turned to face it. It was a good a direction as any, so that was the way he struck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this waiting for the noisy party my flatmate was having to leave, so I could get to sleep in time for my early class, and then while sleep deprived the next day. I refused to be late posting this! I update on Wednesdays, damnit! It's my thing!
> 
> The passcode on Akihiko's phone is 1988 for a reason – can anybody guess it?


	14. Chapter 14

For while, life was good and Akihiko was enjoying being out and about, dandering down streets and across parks that he didn’t recognise but found rather picturesque anyway. It was a handsome area, and Akihiko took a few detours to fully appreciate some of the prettier parks before joining the streams of people heading towards bus stops and train stations.

The world lurched sharply, and Akihiko paused in his wandering. A smartly dressed salary-man nearly walked into the back of him, and had to turn sharply to avoid a collision, muttering irritably under his breath. Akihiko watched him go, trying to force his eyes to focus on the grey suit but finding them just sliding out of focus every time. Someone else knocked his elbow and grunted, shooting him another deadly look, and then a woman walked headlong into him, knocking them both back a few paces. She dropped a heavily loaded shopping bag, which burst and sprayed its contents liberally over the pavement, and her already lined and stressed face crumpled into tears. 

“You stupid boy!” she screamed, setting her other bags down with a thud and batting Akihiko’s hands back as he had instinctively gone to help her. “You stupid boy! Why would you do this to me?! Stupid!” She looked up and spat the last word at him; her face, screwed up with anger and awash with tears, reminded him so much of his mother he took an involuntary step backwards, half raising a hand to protect himself. People were already drawing in curiously, some had run to help the woman with her shopping, and now most of them were watching the strange blonde boy who had clearly caused all this trouble. The sea of disapproving faces was too much for Akihiko to bear and he wheeled about sharply, forcing his way through the circle of people and bolting for somewhere quieter. 

He found it in a nearby alleyway, tottering halfway down the lane before his knees buckled and he found himself in very close acquaintance with the ground. His arms refused to push him back up and everything went fuzzy. 

When his senses cleared and Akihiko came back to, he found himself sprawled on the ground in an alleyway, the patterns on the bricks imprinting onto his face. Groggily, he levered himself up and looked about; at one end of the alleyway was a busy looking shopping street, and the other was a quiet residential area. There was no one apparently aware of him flat out on the concrete and now shivering with cold. Slowly, gasping quietly as his joints cracked and popped with stiffness, he sat up properly and then clawed his way up using the wall. 

His head ached abominably, so he fumbled over his skull to make sure no one had brained him with something heavy, and attempted to blink his eyes back straight. Standing up was making his stomach churn nauseously, so Akihiko sank back down into a cross-legged heap and placed his forehead in his palms. 

“Urgh…” A shudder wracked his frame, and it struck him that it had been a long time indeed since he had felt quite so ill. Even worse, he had actually never been quite as lost as he reckoned he was right now, considering he was fairly sure he didn’t remember ever leaving the house. Just as he wsa about to attempt to make a foray into the wide world beyond the alleyway, something in his trouser pocket vibrated, drumming a tune against his hipbone. For a moment Akihiko was sure he had gone crazy and was imagining things, and then the vibration went off again. He pulled out a little black cuboid and blinked as it lit up and displayed a message to him. 

‘STOP WRITING THOSE FUCKING JUNAI EGOIST BOOKS, OR I WILL HAVE TO INJURE YOU. NOWAKI KEEPS BUYING THEM!’ it read. Akihiko read it over a few times in utter bewilderment before he noticed the name above the message and nearly cried out with relief. It was a message from Kamijou Hiroki, and how many of those were there likely to be sending him messages on this strange device? 

It was a struggle to get the thing to work for him, especially since it worked via a touch-screen instead of normal buttons that Akihiko could understand, but eventually he persuaded it to call the phone number provided for Kamijou Hiroki and pressed it to his ear hopefully. 

“It’s not normal, him reading about our sex life in some perverted book you've written. I don't even know why he buys these, he can't stand you!”

Akihiko almost recoiled from the phone, such was his shock. This wasn't Hiroki's voice at all, but a much deeper tone, reminiscent of the other boy's father. But Kamijou Yoichi had never spoken a word to Akihiko in his life; unlike his wife he seemed to regard Akihiko with a jaded eye, like he was waiting for the boy to snap and possibly bite someone. There was no other option that Akihiko could genuinely think of, and it hurt his brain even more to try and think of something else. The mystery voice continued to growl uncomplimentary things in a very Hiroki-like manner, until Akihiko could stand no more and interrupted.

“Hiroki?”

“Yes, what? Finally standing up for yourself – it’s taken you a long time to think of an answer, hasn't it?!”

“I don't...” Akihiko gritted his teeth as a fresh wave of nausea suddenly swept up from the pit of his stomach. While he suppressed the urge to empty his stomach all over his shoes - a pair he didn't recognise interestingly enough - Hiroki burst back into his rant, informing Akihiko that he was a pervert and a nuisance. “Hiroki!” he exclaimed, when he felt safe enough to open his mouth once more.

“Jesus, what's got into you today?” asked his friend, subsiding obediently. Akihiko almost gasped with relief - it was very difficult to get Hiroki stopped once he'd started.

“Can we talk?” he said, “In person for preference.”

“Why?” Hiroki's new voice was full of suspicion.

‘Because I'm confused and lost and I feel ill and I was wondering if you would know what was going on or why I'm stranded in an alleyway in a bit if Tokyo I have never seen in my life,’ was what Akihiko wanted to say. In the end he went for a laconic, “Because I have some questions that's why.”

Hiroki growled again and said, “Fine, I'll meet you outside Mitsuhashi at lunch time. You can buy me lunch.”

“Mitsuhashi?” mumbled Akihiko, starting to feel distinctly lost again.

“The university where I work,” said Hiroki in his special talking-to-imbeciles voice. At least that hadn't changed, thought Akihiko, opening his mouth to ask why Hiroki would work at a university when the man snapped, “I have a class to teach now. Don’t be late for lunch or I'll go home!”

Hiroki hung up before Akihiko could get another word in. He frowned and lowered the phone slowly. It had sounded like Hiroki – or at least the man had had Hiroki’s manner – but at the same time it really had not. Unless the other boy had hit puberty hard and fast since the last time Akihiko had seen him, it wasn’t likely his voice would have dropped so low. 

Anyway, he was meant to be finding his way to Mitsuhashi University, of all the places. He had been expecting Hiroki to bawl him out for not being in school, or to be told to just come to the Kamijou estate. Having to not only locate the university on a map but getting there with no form of transport and no money would be… fun… 

He stared down at the phone in his palm and ran his thumb over the screen – it shifted the little pictures around and one caught his eye in particular. Maps… Well, that would be handy.

It was all probably some sort of dream, Akihiko reckoned, or a hallucination. The best plan would be to just truck along with what was happening and ignore the stranger parts. Such behaviour had served him well before. 

Time to start walking.

* * *

Miyagi took one last draw on his cigarette and emerged from the shelter of the literature building wall to stub the butt out on the bin. The day was crisp and the air bit into the exposed skin above his heavy coat, so he tucked himself up nicely and stretched to get some heat into his muscles, cramped from being hunched at his desk all day. While he tried to coax his elbow to straighten and pop into a workable position, he looked around curiously. He did like to people-watch, think up silly backstories and reasons for their expressions and styles and appearance, but being on a university campus really simplified the matter too much. Most of the students wandering past he recognised vaguely, while all of the older people he knew as teachers or researchers. Some days it took a while to spot anyone of watching value – today it only took him a few seconds, as he spotted something young and pretty sitting on a picnic table in the shelter of a tree. 

For a moment, Miyagi found himself wondering if Shinobu had a cousin that he hadn’t met. There was a certain passing resemblance, mostly because of the blonde hair and pale skin, but it faded as soon as the professor paid more attention. Unlike the rich honeyed fawn of Shinobu’s hair, this young man had silvery white toned locks; his skin wasn’t warm cream like Shinobu’s, but the cool translucency of the very best porcelain plates, left at the back of a cupboard until a very rare occasion. Miyagi squinted his eyes and nodded in satisfaction that what he saw matched his rapidly forming opinion – the boy had icy cold pale blue eyes, like melt-water from a glacier, and a mistrustful, tired look on his face. He was pretty, yes, but Miyagi preferred his boys a bit… warmer… 

By the time he was finished cataloguing the stranger, someone he recognised wandered across to speak to the young man. It was one of his old students, one who had left a year or two ago in fact. Miyagi wondered why he would show up on campus of all places, and then took a guess that he was maybe here to collect something from the department, or maybe just to meet a friend. He did seem fairly chummy with the gloomy boy, not that it got him much in the way of a reaction in return. 

“Oi, old man!” A delightfully familiar voice bit through his reverie, and Miyagi spun sharply on one foot to find the reason he had actually been waiting outside in the nippy weather scowling at him. 

Shinobu gave him a suspicious look and peered over at the professor’s viewing target himself. “Checking out the talent?” he growled darkly. 

“Just wondering who he was!” Miyagi laughed and tucked his hands into his pockets. “He’s not my type anyway.”

Shinobu’s frown deepened slightly, but Miyagi had grown to be an expert in the subtle signs on his lover’s face – this was a curious frown, the one that got trotted out whenever there was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Together they watched as the young man nodded glumly and got up off the picnic table slowly and stiffly – Miyagi noticed the coat he was wearing wasn’t quite thick enough for the chill in the air, and wondered just how long he’s been sitting there, waiting forlornly. He walked off with that former student, a curious blank expression sliding into place over his face to hide the wariness. 

“So, he’s not your type?” Shinobu’s voice was quiet and serious – for a second Miyagi thought he was in trouble, but when he looked back at the student he was pleased to see the beginnings of a smug little leer on the boy’s lovely face. “What exactly is your-“

He didn’t let Shinobu finish. “My type is pushy, terrorising blondes, although I originally didn’t get much choice.” 

Shinobu stormed off. Miyagi smiled and followed – he was heading towards the professor’s car anyway.

* * *

Misaki stared in at the bed – empty, sheets strewn about carelessly – and said, stupidly, “He’s gone.”

“Do you see know why I have to keep him locked in?” Usami Fuyuhiko growled, “Because if I don’t, the silly child runs off. He’s a genius and yet he has the common sense of a sheep.”

Misaki wanted to say a whole lot to that, mostly about how if Akihiko didn’t feel like he was being imprisoned he probably wouldn’t run away if he had the chance. There would have to be something to run away from, otherwise the ever stoic Akihiko would never move. But they had just finished a huge argument – it had lasted for hours – and he really didn’t fancy starting a new one. Instead he just did a hurried, and slightly panicked, circuit of the penthouse to check Akihiko wasn’t hiding anywhere. 

There was no sign of him at all. 

Once the student came to a worried halt, Usami Fuyuhiko checked his watch and frowned. “He’ll be long gone by now.”

Misaki groaned and darted to the coat rack, his eyes falling on the gap where Akihiko had taken his adopted coat off the peg. “I’ll check nearby.”

“You’ll check nowhere. My men will search, and you will get on with your own life.” He loomed down on Misaki, and gently patted him on the shoulder. “My son is no longer any of your concern. I suspect your life would be infinitely improved if you didn’t obsess over him so much.” With that, he swept out. 

Misaki didn’t cry this time; to be honest he was getting a bit sick of all the tears, and anyway now was the time to man up and actually do something. Sod stupid Usami Fuyuhiko and sod his stupid ideas that he knew what was best for Usagi-san. That was evidently not true, otherwise Akihiko would have grown up into a normal man, and not the social disorder ridden, massively flawed, entirely useless person that Misaki cared for. It was Misaki’s job now, looking after Akihiko, and he considered himself a damn sight better at it than anyone had ever been before. So he was going to keep trying and trying and trying until Akihiko either remembered him or… Or that other thing that he couldn’t bear thinking about, because he wasn’t going to cry at all now. 

He sniffled a bit in the lift down to street-level, but since he could still see when he stepped out into the lobby, he didn’t count it as proper tears. 

The rest of the day was spent walking up and down streets, calling into shops, talking to guards in the subway and asking bus drivers piercing questions. No one seemed to recall seeing Akihiko recently; certainly some of them remembered the child, as he was quite a difficult figure to forget, but always in the company of Misaki. Occasionally, in his searching, Misaki ran into men in dark suits, wearing dark glasses and equally dark expressions. Clearly these were men from the Usami Corporation out searching as well, and Misaki stayed well clear in case he was recognised. In an attempt to blend in more, he popped into a convenience store and bought himself some sweets so he could carry the bag and pretend he was merely out looking for comfort food instead. Whether or not his disguise worked, or whether the men simply weren’t bothered with his puny and hardly far-reaching efforts, Misaki went about unimpeded until the sunlight began to fade in the late afternoon and his aching feet drove him back home. 

Usami Fuyuhiko was inside the penthouse when he got back, relaxing on the sofa and reading through messages on his phone with a rapt air. Misaki elbowed his way past the pair of formally dressed men guarding the door and stared at the older man in absolute shock and horror. 

“Just another quick visit.” Usagi-chichi slipped his phone back in his pocket and stood up. For a moment Misaki was afraid the man would loom over him again and somebody would have to be punched for being a condescending bastard, but he stayed well back, hands in his coat pockets and a soft smile on his face. He couldn’t have been here more than a few minutes, Misaki thought, with the windswept fuzziness to his black hair and the fact he hadn’t taken his coat off in the absolutely roasting apartment – he had taken his shoes off though, a proper Japanese gentleman where his son would occasionally forget and clatter around the place in his brogues until yelled at. He had a well-darned hole in one of his socks, Misaki noticed, where the repairing thread was a lighter grey than the black of his fabric. “I am aware I may have been a touch… unkind to you earlier. I would like to apologise.” His smile faded slightly when he spoke next. “I still stick by what I said, though. Your life would be infinitely easier and certainly much more normal, if you would cease your interactions with Akihiko. A normal life would be much better suited to you, I think, where you don’t have to search Tokyo personally for one child. Maybe you should really consider it.”

Misaki shook his head weakly. “I can’t,” he said quietly, still staring at the man’s sock. “He’s…” There wasn’t a word he could think of that filled that gap perfectly enough, so he left it hanging and hoped that Usami Fuyuhiko would understand.

The man sighed, and shrugged. “Well, anyway. I merely wanted to apologise. I am also worried about my son, and I’m afraid I spoke rashly earlier on.” He looked at Misaki’s drooping form with a professional eye for tiredness and suggested, “Maybe you should get some rest.”

“I’m just going to get some dinner,” mumbled Misaki, even as he swayed on his feet. “And I’ll go out again. He can’t have gotten too far – he didn’t have any money and I know where he goes, so I should be able to find him there. It’s not too difficult.”

“Bed,” said the older man firmly. “And then, if your feet are in a good enough state tomorrow, you can try then.”

“You can’t order me about like that,” whined Misaki, tiredness loosening his tongue. 

Usagi-chichi gifted him with an unimpressed look. “Surely you could do something of use inside then.”

Misaki’s cold and tired brain flopped about for a few minutes, trying to think of anything that might fit the bill. Finally, it fell across an excellent thought indeed – Akihiko’s friends, using that word with the widest possible definition, were spread over a lot of Tokyo. Surely at least some of them would help search for him. The man couldn’t have completely alienated all of them yet. He explained his plan in slurred tones, not entirely aware that he was being carefully shepherded towards the sofa. The first he knew of it was when the seat hit the back of his knees and he collapsed backwards onto the cushions. It was all so soft and comfortable and lovely, and he fell asleep before he even had the chance to tell Usami Fuyuhiko to get the hell out.

* * *

Someone at the doorbell woke Misaki up an hour later. It turned out to be a delivery man, carrying a massive box of takeout, nicely paid for by Usami Fuyuhiko. Evidently he suffered from much the same complaint as his sons – none of them could tell how much was too much. Misaki ate as much of the food as he could, but his stomach was aching before he’d even consumed half of the feast laid out in front of him. 

Unable to simply waste good food, he tucked the leftovers into the fridge and then settled himself by the phone with a list of people he was sure would help. Initially he had searched for Akihiko’s phone, but it was nowhere to be found in the penthouse – part of him suspected Usagi-chichi had quietly nicked it so Misaki couldn’t try to plant it on Akihiko anymore. 

The first number he dialled was Aikawa, because she would be an excellent warm-up. She was gratifyingly horrified to hear about Akihiko’s disappearance and pledged to get out and search for him even before Misaki asked her. 

The second number was Isaka-san’s, and the man answered the phone audibly drunk. The news sobered him up drastically, but he was still nearly incomprehensible and very, very teary indeed. Misaki hoped that that was just a side-effect of his inebriation – much like Akihiko’s drunken talent for forgetting which language he was meant to be speaking in – and not a sign of some deeper infatuation with the author. 

Thirdly was Todo. He was more concerned with Misaki’s state of well-being, kind man that he was, and Misaki had to stop himself from blurting everything about what was happening. In the end, he said he would keep an eye out around Mitsuhashi, and would ask about campus for any sightings. 

Fourth was Sumi. Misaki found him to be too creepily enthused about the whole situation: so he made up a lie about there being another call waiting and hung up within mere minutes of starting the call. Some people just didn’t have the right skill for being concerned, obviously. 

Lastly was Misaki’s brother. Or it would have been if Takahiro had been in yet – Minami answered the phone and explained that Takahiro was working late. 

“I just wanted to ask if you guys could maybe keep an eye out for Usagi-san…” Misaki bit his lip, fighting the tears he’d kept so well-tamped down. There was something about the motherly concern in Manami’s voice that broke him a little bit. “He’s sort of forgotten… well, everything pretty much…”

“He’s missing?” Minami sighed unhappily. “Oh that’s dreadful. I’ll tell Takahiro as soon as he comes home. Unless you want to talk to him?”

Misaki couldn’t imagine anything worst at that time – Takahiro was lovely, but such a huge worrier and not especially good in an acute crisis. He had a tendency to repeat the obvious and flutter and think up inane problems that Misaki had found oddly comforting in a distracting sort of way when he was younger. Nowadays though, he found it grating. And he suspected, somewhere unpleasant inside himself, that Takahiro would give him the same advice that Usagi-chichi had – leave Akihiko to his family and don’t concern yourself anymore, he’s not worth it really. 

To Misaki, of course, he was very much worth it indeed. Not having him here was emphasising that hugely. The penthouse was lonely and quiet unhappiness seemed to be oozing out of the walls, like the companionship and noise of the two men together had been the only thing keeping it at bay. Usagi-san, with his amazing limpet skills, had suckered himself onto Misaki figuratively as well as literally, and the younger man just couldn’t shake his touch off.

* * *

Akihiko had waited for ages, hours and hours, huddled on a picnic bench until he was shaking uncontrollably with cold and his joints had locked uncomfortably. The coat he was wearing was far too thin for the biting wind, and he could find no place with shelter that also enabled him to see so much of the campus. 

With a dry cough - the cold air was biting into his lungs - he huddled down a bit further and looked about unhappily. He was so close to giving up and finding somewhere warm where someone sympathetic might take pity on him, but he had been that close for hours now. Akihiko was, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be, a Usami through and through. And Usamis did not give up. 

Anyway, part of him was sure he was meant to know where Hiroki was ‘working’, but he couldn’t pinpoint where exactly. This perch seemed a good medium, where he could watch groups of people wandering about, coming and going to and from all directions. None of them had been Hiroki though. Worse, no one had been younger than eighteen!

As night began to fall, and the urge to find somewhere cosy grew even further, someone appeared and started to drift towards him. He was probably quite sneaky and slick to everyone else, but Akihiko had been embroiled in the cunning and guile of the Usami family since birth and it was so obvious he thought he might laugh. If it didn’t feel like his jaw had frozen shut, of course. 

The man sidled a bit closer and then looked up, as if startled. “Usami Akihiko?” he asked, face lighting up. It was all incredibly fake and Akihiko barely responded beyond a slight nod. “What are you doing here? Surely you should be in school?” He laughed, and clapped Akihiko on the shoulder, the force making him jerk forward and frown in annoyance. “Of course, I remember my school days. Barely went at all some years.”

Akihiko ‘hmm’ed in the most bored fashion he could summon. 

“You look cold.” One long fingered hand petted Akihiko’s hair softly, as if he wasn’t quite sure it was real. “What are you doing out here anyway.”

“Waiting,” said Akihiko quietly, wishing he could be left alone again. 

“For who?”

“A friend.” Akihiko shivered slightly. “Who are you?”

“Ah, you don’t remember me?” The man’s face crumpled, as if he was dreadfully disappointed. “Sumi Keiichi? No?”

“Afraid not.”

Sumi made a sad face, like a puppy that had just been kicked. “Well, I suppose we have only met a few times… No mind, I still can’t leave you sitting out here on your own. You should come back to my house and warm up. We can call your friend from there. And your family – I bet your father is upset you’ve been gone so long now.”

This person knew Akihiko's name and that was very nearly good enough for him - he was alone and cold and not entirely sure how to get home. All in all he was unhappy, and this person seemed intent on making him slightly less miserable, even if he was more than slightly creepy. The fact he knew of Akihiko’s father made the boy even more agreeable – it might meant he would get home tonight, to his own bed and into Tanaka-san’s warmly distant care. 

“Fine,” he said, easing himself up. “If you insist.”

* * *

The house was lovely; traditional and well-kept. Akihiko glanced about appreciatively as he was led into the front door. Sumi handed his coat to a waiting servant and then gestured for Akihiko to lead the way into one of the first rooms. 

It was a kitchen, surprisingly modern, and it contained a small old woman in an elaborate kimono. She was reading a thick cook-book and looked up with delight when the pair of them entered. 

“Oh, Keiichi! You’ve brought a friend home.” She fluttered over to Akihiko and took his hands. “And he’s a delight! Look at your eyes!” She squeezed one of his cheeks, and Akihiko smiled weakly – he was used to being to petted and coddled by people mesmerised by his distinctly un-Japanese looks. 

“Hello, mother. This is Akihiko.” Sumi grabbed a can of iced tea from the fridge and offered one to Akihiko. He refused as politely as he could, finally managing to free himself from the woman’s grip. 

“Where did you pick him up?” She fixed him with a canny stare, and her son grinned back cheekily. 

“I told him he could stay the night. He’s been sitting outside all day…” said Sumi, touching Akihiko's arm in a manner that made the boy's skin crawl. “I'll speak to my father and he'll get you home tomorrow morning.”

“That’s very sweet,” said Sumi’s mother, twitching an eyebrow. “Oh well. It’ll be nice to have guests who aren’t your father’s stodgy old friends. Young blood, hmm?” She gave Akihiko a mischievous elbow-nudge in the ribs. “Does that suit you all right, Akihiko-kun?”

Akihiko glanced about the kitchen, and then looked back at the older man's face. It held a pleasant, broad smile, ready to do anything that Akihiko wanted, but there was a sinister light in the man's dark eyes - something was using the smile as cover to prowl around and watch him from all angles. But he was tired and ill still, and the lady of the house was watching on with an expectant smile, and Akihiko was always a martyr to his manners when it came to strangers.

“Thank you very much,” he said, “You are very kind.”

* * *

He forced a large meal down – “You're such a skinny thing,” said the lady, “And you're so cold - you need something warming in your stomach” - and then allowed himself to be shepherded into the bathroom with a thick towel slung over his shoulder and a pair of pyjamas. Something made him make sure the door was well and truly locked before he start to strip off - a good thing too, because just as he was removing his underwear the door handle turned down and the lock crunched in the socket as someone tried to open the door.

“Oh sorry,” cried Sumi from outside, “I forgot you were in there!”

Akihiko didn't reply. He didn't trust his voice would be steady enough.

Sleep was uneasy. He wasn't used to futons unless it was the one at Hiroki's house, and the heavy smell of dust, which hauled up memories that Akihiko wasn't sure he had ever actually experienced.

It didn't help that he could hear the comings and goings of the household through the thin walls. The lady of the house was leaving apparently, and Sumi was trying to work in his study, pausing every so often to stalk back to the door of Akihiko’s room and pause outside. His mother would catch him every so often and shoo him off to his work again, but when she finally left Akihiko wasn't feeling very confident about how unmolested he would remain. Why had he said yes? This was so obviously a terrible idea....

In the end, he got up and quickly changed to his own clothes again - he had clung onto them determinedly - and then sat back down on the futon. He couldn't leave while the lady was out there - that was impolite, and you didn't upset someone's mother - so he'd have to wait a bit. 

Despite the discomfort and his taut nerves, he slipped into a deep sleep and woke suddenly when the birds started to chirp outside, dawn sunlight creeping through the curtains. Akihiko sprang up, biting his lip when his muscles seized with the sudden movement, and then crept over to the door. The hallway beyond was silent and empty, so he made his move and tiptoed out. Years of sneaking in and out of his house paid off, and he was able to creep about absolutely silently. 

With little idea of where he was going, Akihiko had to pick a door at random in order to find his way out. Finally, he came to a wooden door and decided it would have to do. The room he’d walked into was not the corridor or anything resembling something leading to an exit. It was, in fact, Sumi’s bedroom, and the man himself was just pulling on his socks. 

“Oh, Usami-san. I didn’t know you were so keen…” He leered, and Akihiko’s heart sank to his toes. “Have you come to cuddle?”

“I was just trying to leave. Thank you for your kindness!” He span on his heel, but Sumi looped an arm around his waist and pulled him down onto his futon. Akihiko tensed immediately as the arm fell over his shoulders, fingers teasing locks of his hair. 

Sumi stroked the boy's cheek gently, smiling at the delicate rasp of teenaged stubble until his fingertips. "You are very handsome," he said softly, inching himself slightly closer. "Come on, give me a kiss." And he struck, pressing his mouth to the boy's pale lips with the ferocity of a snake striking at its prey.

Akihiko had been on the end of some horrible kisses in his time, but this made his stomach turn for reasons he couldn't describe. From a technical stand point - which was how Akihiko normally rated his partners - it was a fine kiss, but on a hitherto un-investigated emotional standpoint it was all sorts of wrong. He tried to pull back, but a sneaky hand had slid around to the back of his neck and held him still. An inquisitive tongue slipped between his lips and forced its way into his mouth, so he shoved firmly at Sumi's chest. This achieved the desired effect and Akihiko leapt up and away, wiping his mouth furiously. 

"No," he said firmly, "Not a chance." 

"Come on," the other man whined, standing up too and taking a predatory step closer. Akihiko stepped away in tandem until his back pressed firmly to the wooden wall. He glanced around hurriedly for some form of escape route, but Sumi had wrangled it so he had no chance of reaching the exit without being intercepted. "Don't be afraid, I just want to show you what I can do. You're willing enough to do it with that wimp Misaki, why not me?" 

For want of anything else to do, Akihiko made a feint to the left and then darted back to the right. Sumi was too quick and grabbed the boy's arm in a pincer grip, slamming him back against the wall with his bigger body weight. 

"Maybe I shouldn't give you a choice," he hissed, "I bet you'd learn just to lie there and take it quickly enough." 

Akihiko blinked at him once and then drove his knee up hard into the man's groin. Sumi buckled with a wheeze, mouth falling open loosely. The grip on Akihiko's arms slackened, and he slammed both his hands into the pit of the man's stomach, eliciting another gasp and knocking him to the floor. Delicately, he stepped over the collapsed figure, taking great care to stand on the glasses that had slid off the man’s nose, and darted out into the actual corridor. This time he managed to pick the right door. 

None of the pairs of shoes in the genkan were his, so he stuck with his flimsy slippers and nipped off into the outside world with only a backwards glance to make sure he wasn't being followed.

* * *

The slippers made it hard going, and quickly began to fall to pieces, not helped by the fact Akihiko was knocked into a large puddle by a group of drunken business men. He tried to take the oddest path possible to discourage anyone trying to tail, him and quickly got well and truly lost. He had originally been intending to head for the Usami corporation headquarters, to avail on his grandfather for sanctuary from his would-be rapist and probably from his father as well once the man found out where he had been. But now he had no idea at all where he was - there were plenty of shops and cafes and bars, cherry trees lit up by spotlights and crowds of happy people. 

One of the slippers ripped with a damp noise and caught against one of the paving stones, threatening to trip its wearer up in the near future. Akihiko sighed and traipsed over to a bench beneath a cherry tree to examine the damage. His foot was bloodied beneath the slipper fabric, and he grimaced as he encountered a loose flap of skin on his sole. 

Even if he had wanted to run further, even if he could have run further, even though he had somewhere to run to, he didn’t actually know how to run there. Completely lost, he curled down further on the bench and lowered his forehead into his palms. Never had he wanted to go home so much before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rawr. I am writer, see me type!
> 
> I hope this suits – I carried on into the drama, because popular opinion called for it. There'll be porn again eventually. For now, angst! Yay! (Part of me wanted to make Sumi even worse, and Akihiko more compliant… But I controlled my perversion this time.)
> 
> I forgot to mention - the passcode for Akihiko's phone is 1988, because it's Misaki's birth year!


	15. Chapter 15

Nowaki had worn his welcome out fairly quickly – Hiroki wasn’t used to his lover being home all the time, and the constant lovey-doveyness got on the older man’s nerves immensely. He escaped to work as much as he could, but there was only so much he could take of Miyagi. 

In the end, Nowaki would hang over Hiro-san for as long as possible and then giggle when he was kicked out of the house, books bouncing off the doorframe behind him. He didn’t mind being chased away that much, since he was still managing to get in more than twice as much Hiro-san time every day and, anyway, he was enjoying being a teenager again. 

He was still able to push through crowds and see over the heads of much of the populace, and that was probably much to do with why he was enjoying being a teenager so much. Part of him suspected if he had been a teenager like Usami-san, he might not have had so much fun. Of course, if he was Usami-san, he wouldn’t enjoy his life at all. 

This evening Nowaki had been chased away for suggesting once too often Hiro-san have a bath with him, when the man had already been in a foul mood about something that had happened earlier on. He had fled under a barrage of bubble bath and sponges, jogging down to street level and rounding the building so he could shout a goodbye to Hiro-san. 

The man stuck his head through the balcony windows and bellowed at him to go away, disappeared for a second, reappeared and shouted at him to get some vegetables for dinner. Smiling contentedly, Nowaki kicked up his heels and jogged off to the supermarket. 

Before he made it though, while walking down the main shopping street and peering into all the windows along the way, Nowaki spotted a huddled little figure on a bench, shaking miserably. He paused, glancing about to see if anyone else had noticed the little cloud of gloom on this otherwise pleasant day. Part of him wanted to do what everyone else was doing and ignore this person, but his conscience struck hard and he walked over. 

“Usami-san?” he asked, stopping in front of the person and frowning down at him. 

With a start, the blonde boy looked up. His eyes were wide and blank, somehow bigger than Nowaki remembered them being and much, much blanker. Before, when Usami-san had shopped Nowaki in as being a Russian Syndrome suffered, there had been a sharp cunning in his gaze, that unpleasant intelligence that made him so hateful to Nowaki. Now, there was nothing beyond a void; it was a highly disconcerting expression on such a young man. 

“Do I know you?” asked Usami-san, shuffling himself tighter on the seat. He wasn’t actually wearing shoes, Nowaki realised, but flimsy house slippers, crumbling to pieces damply. 

“Yes..?” he muttered, “I’m Kusama Nowaki.”

“I definitely don’t know you,” said the boy, “I’m sure I don’t know you.”

“But I know you? Surely that means something,” Nowaki replied. He was getting a bit fed up with this evasiveness. 

Usami-san glanced about, as if looking for an escape route, and then shook his head. “No. It definitely doesn’t.”

Nowaki shrugged and excused himself. There wasn’t any point ruining a good mood while trying to deal with such a grumpy bastard. Instead, he wandered into the shop and bought his goods. 

But when he came out, after an age of standing at the back of a long and slow moving queue, Usami-san was still there. Nowaki stopped at the door of the convenience store and watched the boy for a moment – Usami-san clearly thought no one was looking at him and had dropped the vacant look for such an upset expression Nowaki knew something had to be going wrong. He marched straight back over and sat down on the bench next to the boy with a huff of breath. 

“Should I add I don’t intend on getting to know you at all?” said the boy, without prompting. “Just so you don’t put too much effort into something that’s going to get you nowhere.”

“Usami-san…” A brain wave struck and Nowaki fished in his bag and drew out a small packet of sweets. “Want one?” It was an almost fool proof way of getting a small child to at least sit still long enough for you to have a look at it, and he was hoping it would soothe the man long enough for Nowaki to make him realise that this gangling teenager was in fact the man dating his best friend. 

Another thought rolled on through, just as Usami-san refused the sweets and shifted a few inches away down the bench. Nowaki cursed himself for being so stupid – he had been working in a clinic filled with Russian Syndrome sufferers for days, he had the disease himself, he was a doctor for god’s sake and he been overlooking the obvious. 

“What age are you, Usami-san?” he asked, in his pleasant-doctor voice. 

The boy gave him a look of pure distrust, but answered anyway, “I’m thirteen.”

“Not thirty then?”

This time the boy didn’t reply. He didn’t even deem the statement worthy of a Look, and just turned away. Nowaki stayed watching for any other reactions – any mirthful trembling or a twitch of a lip that might indicate Usami-san was having him on – but there was nothing and he realised what must have happened. Usami-san had had the chronic syndrome as well, as it was fairly evident that he was in the amnesiac stages of the illness. He looked younger because he was younger; now that Nowaki had realised this he was sure that the boy’s eyes were bigger, his jawline lacking any masculine angle, his clothes baggier on a small frame. It didn’t explain the slippers though, unless the boy had run out on his boyfriend when he de-aged further and didn’t recognise where he was anymore. If that was true and now Usami-san was lost and unable to find his way home, then Nowaki couldn’t leave the kid sitting out here. Who knew how long he’d been here already, he was certainly shaking like a leaf in temperatures that Nowaki found quite balmy, and who knew what would happen if he was left on his own. 

“Where’s your home, Usami-san?” he asked, letting the boy inch away again without comment. 

Akihiko glanced back and pursed his lips. He wasn’t keen on admitting to his address, obviously, so Nowaki thought he might give it a go and rattled off the first line of the address to which Hiro-san always mailed books and angry letters written all in red ink and capital letters. There wasn’t even the slightest twitch of recognition in those lavender-blues, and Nowaki wrinkled his nose. He knew Hiro-san’s childhood address, and he knew that Hiro-san and Usami-san had been neighbours then, so now he tried that. 

“How do you know that?” the boy asked suspiciously. His eyes had lit up this time, Nowaki was sure of it, and he inched back towards the taller boy curiously. 

“That was Kamijou Hiroki’s house, wasn’t it?” said Nowaki. 

“You know Hiroki?” The light was still there, a little candle of utter delight in the otherwise empty abyss. Even though Nowaki did not like Usami Akihiko in his grown-up form at all, the miniature version was starting to grow on him. He had always been a sucker for waifish, sad little faces. 

“I know Hiroki really well,” he said, reaching out a hand cautiously. Touching the boy right now was a good way to make him shut down again, Nowaki knew, but offering a conciliatory touch with no obligations might encourage him. It was like coaxing a scared kitten closer, with all the same threats of claws and teeth. “I could take you to see him?”

“Why would you know Hiroki?”

Nowaki looked down at himself and wrinkled his nose as he thought up a reasonable excuse. “We’re um… He’s… Tutoring me! That’s it! He’s tutoring me.”

“But you look older than me. Why would Hiroki be tutoring you?”

Nowaki laughed nervously. “Well, I’m just a bit big for my age.” 

“Hmm.” Akihiko thought about this for a moment, and then seemed to come to a conclusion. “All right.”

“So will you come with me?”

“No, of course not,” said Usami-san. 

Nowaki dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Inside he always kept several pictures of Hiro-san, from an adorable picture he’d been gifted by Hiro-san’s mother to a series of photos of the man grown up and scowling. He chose the adorable picture and handed it over; Akihiko stared at it thoughtfully and then gave it back. 

“Please, come with me? Hiro-san will be really happy to see you,” he tried, smiling as nicely as he could. 

Usami-san sighed and then nodded. “Fine.”

* * *

Nowaki found himself in a street he didn't recognise and stopped so suddenly the waif following him walked straight into his back and rebounded a few feet.

"Oh, sorry," he said, laughing nervously and fully expecting to get chewed out. But Usami-san merely blinked at him and then looked about blankly. Nowaki stared at him for a long while, waiting for any sort of sign that something was going on behind those big blue eyes, but nothing seemed to happen. Eventually he gave up and said, "I've brought us the wrong way. I was heading to my old house, ha. My brain's going!"

There was so little reaction Nowaki almost repeated what he had said. Was the boy deaf or something? Hiro-san had never mentioned Usami -san having some sort of physical disability, but maybe it was a sore point that the man rarely shared. He reached out and touched the boy's shoulder, receiving a scowl and a flinch in return.

"Yes?"

"Can you hear me all right?" He asked kindly, putting on his best doctor's face, all compassion and understanding.

"I can. I didn't realise you needed some sort of praise every time you spoke."

Nowaki blanched and told himself not to be so offended. The boy was anxious and alone with a stranger, never mind the obvious handicap of having the personality of something rabid. Just because he had been receiving cold politeness until now didn't mean that he could forget that Usami Akihiko was highly unpleasant.

"Excuse me for trying to help,” spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it. Akihiko glared at him for a second, then appeared to run the previous conversation through his head again and nodded.

"Fair enough," he said calmly, looking around him again. "How does a person get lost going to their own house?"

"You don't appear to know where yours is," Nowaki pointed out.

Akihiko smiled, without humour. "Never said I wanted to find my house." A brief look of anxiety flitted over his expression. "You're sure Hiroki will be there, aren't you?"

"I told you he’s waiting at my house!" Nowaki wheeled about and started down the road again. With a nervous glance about, Akihiko followed, skipping a few steps to catch up to Nowaki's longer strides. For a man who had grown up to be only a few inches off Nowaki's truly impressive height, Akihiko was very, very small as a teenager. The doctors analytical mind sprung into life and immediately began to loop together all sorts of symptoms and possible diagnoses. "I showed you the picture didn't I?" He added in a more kindly tone.

Akihiko made a small murring noise of agreement, but he still lord anxious like he was waiting for someone to pounce on him from the increasing shadows surrounding him. The thought returned to Nowaki that the boy had been running away from something when he had found him, running away from someone and his situation was so dire he was forced to depend on the weakest of threads to keep himself afloat. A secondary thought occurred that maybe Hiroki was not the best remedy for someone in such a state, but he had promised to take the boy to him and therefore he had to follow through.

* * *

For the life of him, Akihiko had been completely unable to recall why he had been waiting in that street, dressed in clothes that weren’t his and wearing no shoes. There had been no feasible explanation, and he had given up trying to think of one fairly quickly. His head had hurt too much to try harder. 

Far more worrying had been the niggling sensation, scratching away at the back of his mind, that he should have been on the lookout for someone. But who? None of the usual options – his parents, brother, tutor – seemed to fit the bill, and he hadn’t been particularly rude to anyone else lately. It was all highly baffling. 

So when the young man had towered over Akihiko and started to act like Akihiko should know him, the blond had been even more on edge than normal. He didn’t make a habit of being rude to strangers – that was for people he knew deserved it – but he had kept his answers as clipped and curt as possible so it had been clear he didn’t want to make friends. It hadn’t work and Akihiko had considering running for it, when the other teenager first rattled off Hiroki’s address and then handed him a picture of the boy in question. Akihiko had been clutching at straws all afternoon, and this was the best looking option he’d found himself with so far. 

The main problem after that was that this Nowaki person had seemed to be leading them on a highly circuitous route that had crisscrossed over itself several times. Eventually, he had cottoned on, led them right back to the road Akihiko had been sitting on for most of the afternoon and then carried on several blocks in the opposite direction to the one they had original took. By the time they traipsed up the stairs of a perky looking apartment block, Akihiko was tired and very worried again.

* * *

Hiroki was reading a chapter of a translated Austen novel he was considering introducing to his class when the front door opened and Nowaki called out a greeting. He glanced up, ready to reply, when Nowaki shuffled into the room, looking almost shamefaced. 

“What is it now?” he asked, dropping the novel onto the coffee table and fixing the younger man with a piercing stare. He hadn’t quite got used to Nowaki’s new shape, but it was close enough to his old one that Hiroki felt all right enjoying it without telling like too much of a pervert. It certainly made him feel satisfied to stand up and be the same height as his lover. 

“I’ve brought a guest home,” said Nowaki, just as a curious and familiar voice piped, “Hiroki?”

It was Akihiko, and Hiroki pounced into the hallway with malicious glee – he’d waited for hours by the back gate of Mitsuhashi for the man yesterday and for no avail – ignoring Nowaki’s strangled squawk of warning. 

“You have a lot to answer for!” he snapped, jabbing a finger into the boy’s chest. “I waited for most of the afternoon for you, expecting it to be some sort emergency and you fucking ditch me! What sort of shitty behaviour is that?”

Now it began to dawn on him something was wrong. Akihiko was no longer the lithe and lissom sixteen year old, but the far frailer and daintier thirteen or twelve year old version. There was look of shock in those eyes, coupled with a terror Hiroki had never seen before in his life. 

“Hiroki?” repeated the blond, thickly. “I don’t… You’re not…”

When Usami Akihiko was at a loss for how to finish a sentence, Hiroki knew they were in trouble. He threw his gaze back to Nowaki, who was watching from the living room with an apologetic expression on his face. 

“What’s happening?” Hiroki asked. 

“I think he’s de-aged further, Hiro-san. It’s what the chronic disease sometimes does – reme- Hiro-san, the door!” He sprang forward just as Hiroki pivoted on his heel and flung himself against the woodwork, instinctively following the slightly squeaky teenaged voice of authority. Akihiko had been hurriedly fumbling with the catches and locks, face set determinedly as he tried to get out. Now Hiroki slammed the portal shut and reset all of the locks, flicking the snip down to make it an even trickier task to get out, while Nowaki hauled the blond boy away from the door and to the sofa. Here he cowered only momentarily, before the old Usami fire roared back into life and straightened his spine and faced down his captors with superb dignity. Hiroki knew the Usamis were protective of their children – he had realised years over the event that his own family had had to go through an extensive checking procedure before the young master of the Usami clan was even permitted to be alone with Hiroki – and for good reason too, with the amount of money and power they wielded they should have been excellent targets for extortion. But now he reckoned that anyone kidnapping a Usami child would have been on a hiding to nothing: there was no fuss, no drama, no heart wrenching tears, just wretched determination and a shrewd mind ticking over behind a calm façade. 

“You don’t recognise me, Akihiko?” Hiroki asked, feeling a bit upset nonetheless when the boy shook his head. There was a bit of a hesitation there, so he held some hope that Akihiko still knew him but it wasn’t enough. 

“He needs hospitalisation,” said Nowaki firmly, stepping closer to his lover’s side. “But mostly he needs someone he’ll recognise. His parents?”

Hiroki made a face. “His mother’s a nutcase and his dad’s a weirdo even by Usami standards, but still probably the best option.” He frowned. “I don’t have any contact numbers though, and the corporation is so fussy about giving them out…”

“Would your mother know?”

Hiroki chuckled drily. “My father made her delete the number when we were eighteen. He didn’t want any connection to them at all.” A thought struck him at full speed and then capsized abruptly. “Oh. I was going to say his grandfather, but the old sod’s long dead now.”

“Grandfather..?” murmured Akihiko quietly, a stricken look flitting over his face. 

“What? He was ninety-nine!” Hiroki snapped off the exasperated look Nowaki gave him. “I didn’t kill him! Purely natural causes!”

Nowaki didn’t respond, but crouched down in front of Akihiko and said, “You wouldn’t know your phone number, Usami-san?”

“No.”

“I’m sure you do though,” said Hiroki, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. 

“I’m not stupid enough to tell my kidnappers that, am I?” was the snarled reply, although Akihiko’s gaze developed a concerned flicker as he looked over Hiroki again. 

“You were stupid enough to walk straight into our hands,” growled Hiroki, his mind still churning through the options. Maybe he should try Akihiko’s apartment? The man was shagging that Takahashi kid, Takahiro’s little brother, after all. Or maybe… “His editors! They’re always baying for his blood!”

Somewhere under his piles of books was his mobile – buried when he had thrown it at a bookshelf in a fit of pique. Now he tossed books aside as he scrambled for the device, cackling when he found it. 

“Give me a minute, and I’ll find the number.” Hiroki dashed away to find his little black book of phone numbers. Nowaki nodded happily and then transferred his gaze back to the blond boy perched on the couch. 

The dark haired teenager smiled nervously, the expression dying when it was met with such an icy stare. They sat in silence for a long while, before Hiroki burst back into the room, brandishing his phone like a trophy. 

“Did you get through?” Nowaki perked up. 

“Immediately. Aikawa-san promised to contact Akihiko’s father and bring him around.” He glanced about the flat, his skin blanching. “Jesus… We’ve got to tidy up in here.”

* * *

Aikawa-san turned out to be a vivacious red-head, bursting into the apartment like a slightly hysterical whirlwind and nearly leaping on an increasing frightened looking Akihiko. She was followed closely by a very teary looking Takahashi Misaki, and a tall, broad man in a dark suit and with dark sunglasses on. With his appearance, Akihiko made a muffled sort of noise and shot straight into his protective shadow. 

“You are an idiot, child!” The man barked, as Hiroki leant over to Nowaki and whispered , “Usami Fuyuhiko,” in his ear. “Do you not think? Running off like that!”

Akihiko murmured something almost inaudible in a foreign language, starting to look distinctly sulky instead of relieved. His father scowled down at him, growling at him not to be so silly, and then smiled abruptly at Hiroki and Nowaki. “Thank you very much, Kamijou-kun.”

“It’s no problem, Usami-san.” Hiroki bowed his head slightly. He gestured to Nowaki and muttered, “This is Kusama Nowaki, my uh…” He glanced at Nowaki and made a face. Usami-san’s smile developed a sort of knowing quality that Nowaki reckoned could get just a touch irritating after a while. “Yeah, well. He found Akihiko earlier on.”

“Well then you have my thanks, Kusama-san,” said the older man, removing his glasses and blinking unpleasantly reptilian eyes. There was more family resemblance to his grown up son rather than the waif lurking in his shadow. “I’ll be taking him off your hands now.”

“Usami-san,” said Nowaki, “Your son needs to go to the hospital right away.”

“I’ll be taking him to the doctor’s this evening,” said the man, ignoring the series of worried bleats Takahashi-kun was uttering. “Once I’ve got him settled back at home, of course.”

“He needs to go urgently,” said Nowaki. “He’s already de-aging, and that’s a very bad sign.” 

Takahashi-kun whimpered quietly.

“You seem to have some serious expertise in this field,” chuckled the older man. 

Nowaki tried to straighten himself to his full adult height, feeling a little disappointed when he came up a full foot short. “I have the Russian Syndrome myself,” he said firmly, “I was a doctor before I… shrank.”

“You should listen to him!” bleated Takahashi-kun, suddenly. His facer had flushed bright red as everyone turned to look at him, but he continued anyway. “Dr. Fujioka told you he should go to hospital and that was days ago!”

“Takahashi-kun, do you not remember the little talk we had before?” said Usami Fuyuhiko softly, a cord of steel under the kindness. “I am fully capable of caring for my son.”

It all devolved from there, and both Hiro-san and Aikawa-san were pulled into the argument before long. Akihiko crept out from his father’s presence and flopped back onto the sofa again, still shooting Nowaki a nervous look when he dropped onto the seat beside him. The boy flipped between his moods astonishingly quickly, behind the ever present mask of blankness of course. He didn't seem to be aware that everyone was arguing about him; Nowaki watched him carefully, but not once did his face flicker with any emotion or did he flinch at the anger on display. Eventually he got up and paced to the kitchen, staring at the tap in a considering fashion and then looking about. Nowaki followed him and fetched a glass from a cupboard, handing it over and then watching with some amusement as the boy turned the tap on too far and neatly sprayed himself with water.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked as the boy sipped the water.

"I am fine, thank you," was the response, polite but devoid of all emotion or sincerity.

“Sorry about worrying you so much earlier on, but I couldn’t leave you out on the streets,” he smiled. There was little response, bar a slight pursing of the lips, so he struck out desperately for another topic. "Must be fun, listening to this argument, huh?"

Akihiko looked over at him, and made a sort of noncommittal noise.

"I mean, no one's taking your opinion into account," Nowaki pried deeper, "That must be upsetting."

The boy shrugged, sipping his water again, "I suppose it might be."

"You're not upset?" Nowaki gave up on subtlety completely.

"Why should I be? This happens all the time. It would be pathetic, still getting hung up on it." Akihiko gave a little shiver and made a face. He was sweating, Nowaki realised, copiously so, and his already pale skin had turned a distinctly grey colour. A pain seemed to strike his head and he winced, clasping his free hand to his forehead - Nowaki moved forward to take the glass and set it down. The second he turned away, Akihiko murmured something in French, "Je ne me sens pas bien…” 

And then he buckled to the ground without another word.


	16. Chapter 16

Nowaki dove down onto his knees, fingers groping frantically for Akihiko’s pulse. He found it, throbbing twitchily under the pale skin of the boy’s throat, and then bent his head to check the boy was breathing. All his doctorial urges sated, Nowaki rocked back on his heels and glanced up. Everyone had gone silent and gathered around, all of them ashen pale. 

“Just unconscious,” he said, “He should come around in a minute, if it’s another attack of de-aging.” Here he fixed the senior Usami with a strong glare, noting with satisfaction the tinge of worry in the older man’s eyes. “He needs to go to the hospital straight away.”

“Fine. My car is waiting outside.” The man stepped forward and frowned. “This is going to do my back a whole lot of good…” Stooping, he easily lifted the child in his arms, and turned to fix his gaze on Takahashi-kun. “I suspect you might as well come with me. Otherwise, I dread to think what you’ll end up doing.” He shifted his son’s unconscious form into a more comfortable position against his chest and grimaced slightly. “This was far easier when I was twenty years younger.”

Takahashi-kun was grinning through his teary expression, almost hopping on the spot with joy, and darted out of the room to hold the front door open. Before he left, Usami-san turned to look at Nowaki again. 

“I would be obliged if you would accompany us. Just in case.”

“Of course,” said Nowaki, throwing another look at Hiro-san. It wasn’t subtle enough, and the senior Usami’s reptilian eyes caught sight of it easily. 

“And of course, Kamijou-kun is welcome as well.” He shifted the dead weight in his arms again and said, “It’s lucky I brought the limo today isn’t it?” 

They filed out and down the stairs, Aikawa-san excusing herself with one last tearful look at the still unconscious Usami-san and giving Takahashi-kun a strong hug goodbye which made the boy blush almost crimson. 

Nowaki had never been in such a big, plush car – it even had carpet for crying out loud – but he controlled his natural wonderment and focused on the job in hand. Usami Akihiko showed no sign of waking as he was jostled into the seat and propped mostly upright against his father’s shoulder. As the older man pressed the intercom button to give the driver his orders, Nowaki checked for pulse and breathing again. 

“Well, he’s still alive.” He flicked the corner of the boy’s eyelid and nodded contentedly as the lid twitched and the eye jerked underneath the thin skin. “Maybe being out on his own for so long has had a nasty effect on his system. It might just be the cold or dehydration has knocked him out this time.”

Nowaki continued to take the lead when they reached the hospital - once he had finished marvelling at the ability of the driver to fit the limo into a space surely only designed for much small cars, he led them straight to the accident and emergency department, found a nurse who had known him when he was normal sized and only had to spend a few minutes persuading her that he was in fact himself.

"Kusama-sensei, you have fallen in with some strange people," she said, peering around the nurses’ station to look at the newest arrivals. "The Russian syndrome, you say?" Her eyes softened at the sight of the blonde boy still slumped against his father's shoulder - by now Nowaki was seriously considering taking a photo of the sight, if only so he could use it as ammo the next time he encountered Usami-san. That was, of course, if the man survived, he reminded himself.

"I'll call the paeds department then," she said, adding, "That's where the board agreed to send any sufferers."

Nowaki shook his head, "If they're still compos mentis, that'll just be humiliating."

The nurse shrugged, "That's what the medical staff said too. It’s not like the paeds doctors are in charge of care, as well - the cases are forwarded onto Hideki-sensei, who runs a clinic down by Mitsuhashi University."

Nowaki perked up then - great! He could contact Hideki-sensei and get Usami-san fast tracked through, and he'd be able to get his own memory lapse from earlier checked out. It was probably just stress and shock taking a toll on him, but he'd assumed much the same thing when. He'd originally come down with the disease. It might pay to not be so negligent this time.

* * *

It was highly worrying, Misaki thought, when only fifteen minutes after Usagi-san's admittance to hospital a highly ruffled looking Dr. Fujioka showed up on the paediatrics ward he'd been placed in. She caught his eye, and then turned away to introduce herself to the charge nurse and the lone doctor left to do the night shift who were doing notes by the front door. Minutes later she broke away with a clipboard and a serious expression on her face - Misaki thought that bit didn't really suit her, considering the meekness she had exhibited when in her practice. 

She stopped at the end of the bed, and introduced herself to Usagi-chichi, Hiroki and Nowaki, nodded to Misaki and picked up the chart. “Things haven’t gone very well recently, no?”

“It’s been an interesting couple of days,” said Usagi-chichi, pleasantly. 

“Four days,” said the doctor, glumly. She pursed her lips and jerked her head to the door. “May I speak with you and Takahashi-san outside for a moment?”

They left Nowaki and Kamijou-sensei holding vigil by the bedside – the older man looking incredibly uncomfortable surrounded by so many children – and padded out into the hallways, where the young doctor was already waiting with her arms crossed. 

“This isn’t the best situation we could have gotten into,” she said, a line of ice in her voice. “We could have delayed this considerably if you had managed to answer the phone.” She fixed Misaki with a severe gaze for a moment and then turned it onto Usami Fuyuhiko. Misaki reckoned that was a brave thing to do indeed, and was highly impressed when the man appeared to flinch slightly. “And you answered the phone and ignored my recommendations.”

“I consider myself much better educated now,” said the man, pleasantly. This did not appear to fool the doctor in the slightest – Misaki was warming to her even more. 

“Well then.” She tapped the clipboard with a pen. “We have already contacted our local expert on the Syndrome, but we should talk initial treatment immediately. Essentially we hit it with everything we can as soon as we can,” said the doctor, reading down her clipboard and signing it with an irritable flourish. “There’s been recent evidence from France suggesting that some existing antivirals slow this virus down, and certainly no evidence that suggests they worsen the situation. So, Usami-san, if you’ll sign this paper, I can start this stage of treatment.” 

Misaki was mollified to spot the sidelong glance Usagi-chichi bestowed upon him before he took the clipboard. “Why do I have to-“

“Because your son is no longer mentally fit to be in charge of his own care. He’s acting and thinking like a young child, because he genuinely believes that he is one.” She shrugged. “This is essentially covering our asses, you understand. Practicing medicine on children, or even just people who look like children, is a minefield. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll prepare the treatment now.” 

She plucked the clipboard back, and quickly trotted off, pausing only to lure a nurse into following her. Usami Fuyuhiko only looked away from her to quickly glance at his watch and frown; Misaki did the same, looking up at the wall clock instead. It was nearly 3am, and he’d been on his feet for a couple days now, with only a few hours of anxious sleep to tide him over. 

“Perhaps you should get some sleep, Takahashi-kun? You’ve been up for a while…”

“I’m fine,” said Misaki firmly, even as his body shook with tiredness. “I can’t leave while Akihiko-san is sick.”

Usagi-chichi granted him a benevolent look and shrugged. “Admirable. You could sleep in the limo, if you want?”

“No.” Misaki remained stubborn, fixing his gaze on the ward doors again. “I’m staying put.”

“At least you’re determined.” He gestured to the doors. “In you go, before Kamijou-kun dies of horror from being around so many children.”

* * *

Nowaki was waiting patiently in the hallway for Dr Hideki to show up when a wave of dizziness swept over him. He had been feeling perfectly fine, if a bit stressed, right up until that point and it was the shock rather than the disturbance to his balance that caused him to drop to his knees. The hospital flooring was cold on his palms when he reached down to stabilise himself, and the voice of a worried nurse scraped against his nerves like a nail on a chalkboard. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mumbled, heaving himself back to lean against the wall and closing his eyes. The nurse was evidently very new, and she was panicking quietly about who she could fetch, when footsteps stomped closer and Dr Hideki swore. Nowaki was impressed, even through the fogginess that was seeping into his mind, at just how comprehensively the man could swear in such a short space of time. He cracked his eyes open to see the senior doctor leaning down beside him, shoving the nurse away with a barked order to fetch a trolley and some useful medical staff. 

“Right lad, tell me what’s the matter,” growled the doctor, pressing the back of his hand to Nowaki’s forehead while the other latched onto his wrist to take his pulse. “Come on, use your brain and stay with me.”

“Came in an hour ago,” Nowaki rasped, having to focus very intensely to bring the thoughts to the surface. “With a... friend…. He’s who I called about… He’s really sick…”

“I’ll deal with him in a minute,” snapped Dr Hideki, scowling deeply. “Think about yourself for once.”

“Um…” Nowaki marshalled his resources and managed to croak out, “Feeling sick,” before his stomach rebelled. The other doctor sprang back surprisingly quickly for a man his age, and came around to Nowaki’s other side to hold him upright as he vomited. The attack ended as quickly as it had started, and the fog inside Nowaki’s skull began to dissipate as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Not a bother.” The man made sure his newest patient was feeling up to holding himself upright and then went to hunt out the trolley and medical staff. He returned with them moments later, hauling the bed along at a fair clip on his own. He barked at a pair of nurses to get Nowaki onto the bed, and then turned on the poor young nurse again. Nowaki made an apologetic face as she bustled off to find some cleaning supplies; she smiled back, understandingly, and he felt instantly worse. “In here.”

As they rolled through the ward doors, Nowaki groaned in realisation. Of course, they were taking him straight into the same ward he’d just come out of, and, equally predictably, they stowed his bed into the bay right beside Usami-san’s. This happened under the shocked gaze of Hiro-san, who gaped at the sight of his lover on the hospital bed for only a few seconds before gathering himself and shooting over to stand by him. 

Dr Hideki was still barking orders at the team who had assembled around him, and once he was done with them turned onto Dr Fujioka, who was talking reassuringly with Takahashi. Figuring he was probably out of the game as far as being of any use went, Nowaki let his head drop back onto the too-soft pillows and reached out a shaky hand. Without a word, Hiro-san took it and squeezed tightly. This time he didn’t scowl or shout or scream, but remained silent and pale. Nowaki squeezed back firmly.

* * *

Misaki was horrified to see Nowaki being wheeled in on the trolley, but tried to focus on what Dr. Fujioka was saying despite this. She was doing her best to be comforting; the facts and figures she was spouting did go some way to numbing Misaki’s mind to the realities of the situation. Was this how doctors worked? – so filled with facts and thoughts they couldn’t focus on the dreadfulness of what they were encountering? 

Another doctor had arrived along with Nowaki, and was snapping out orders at both an impressive rate and volume – Misaki vaguely recognised him as being Professor Hideki, the man who had given the lecture on the Russian Syndrome, before the start of this whole experience. Dr. Fujioka clearly didn’t appreciate it when he turned to her and told her that he would be taking this case over now. 

She drew herself up, to a fairly unimpressive height it had to be said, and snapped, “Usami Akihiko is my patient. I will continue to be involved.”

“Will you now?” growled Dr. Hideki, a touch of curiosity nipping into his voice despite his obvious displeasure. 

“My clinic has been dealing with several cases of Russian Syndrome, as we have many foreign business people as clients. I have seen his case since the start, and I know his records well. I believe that may be of use.” She smiled darkly. “Plus, I speak English. Might be of use to a boy who lived solely in England until the age of ten.”

The older doctor scowled at the blond boy lying still and unconscious under the white sheets. “What age is he now?”

“His father reckons he is about twelve or so.”

“Shit…”

Dr. Fujioka nodded. “Precisely. He’s right on the edge.”

“What’s been done so far?”

“Started antivirals and some prophylactic antibiotics. He’s been unconscious since he came in – about an hour – but he’s fine as far as pulse, breathing and reflexes go.” She pursed her lips. “He was missing a couple days after he started de-aging again, so I’ve fixed up some fluids as well, just in case he’s dehydrated.”

“Sounds good. Taken bloods yet?”

“Endless amounts. All down to the labs half an hour ago.”

The man fixed her with an unreadable expression, and then, grudgingly, said, “Fine. You can stay.”

* * *

It turned into a hectic couple of hours of IV poles and cannulas and more needles than Misaki cared to see. Eventually, and to his great reluctance, Usami Fuyuhiko persuaded him out to the waiting room; although in retrospect it was probably for the best, considering the way Misaki had started to wobble when the first vials of blood had been drawn from one of Akihiko’s pale forearms. Now he was sitting cross-legged on a bench beside the businessman, huddled up under his expensive woollen greatcoat. It wasn’t as comforting as being able to wear one of Akihiko’s heavy coats, but it was a good enough substitute in a pinch. Being made of sterner stuff, Kamijou-sensei had remained by Nowaki’s side, and Misaki was not enjoying being left alone with his lover’s father again. 

“I think we should come to some sort of agreement, now,” said the man after a long silence. “Maybe you should stay with him. I certainly can’t stay all the time.” He checked his watch again. “I have work in four hours.”

“Work?” croaked Misaki, “At this time?”

“Unfortunately, multi-billion dollar international corporations don’t run themselves.”

“But Akihiko-san-!”

“Will understand,” said Usami Fuyuhiko, a distant look in his eyes, “I think he might be more worried if I was beside his bedside constantly.”

Misaki subsided miserably. He wasn’t complaining about being allowed to stay at Usagi-san’s side, but he still felt a father should be more worried about his son. It didn’t strike him as right, but maybe it was just the Usami family and their weird ways. 

“I can stay with him,” he said quietly. 

“Good boy,” murmured Usagi-chichi.

* * *

The long rest and fluids had done wonders for Akihiko’s constitution. Misaki trailed Usagi-chichi back into the ward and was delighted to find the boy sitting up in bed, conversing with Nowaki reluctantly and shooting the glowering Kamijou nervous looks every so often. The boy looked up when his father paused by his bed and blinked up at the older man, all huge blue eyes and utter innocence. 

“You make me suspicious when you give me that look,” said Usami Fuyuhiko, gently patting the boy’s head and frowning. He placed the back of his hand to his son’s forehead and said, “You’re still running a fever.”

“I feel fine.”

His father sighed, “There’s nothing wrong with feeling sick, you know. There is a reason for you being in hospital.”

Akihiko’s face flickered anxiously for a second. “Oh. I still feel fine though.”

“You see, this is why you nearly died from appendicitis.” He paused and looked down at his son’s uncomprehending face. “Maybe that hasn’t happened yet.”

“I don’t remember it,” said Akihiko, helpfully. 

“Not until we were thirteen,” said Kamijou-san, gruffly. 

“That must have been Haruhiko, then,” muttered Usagi-chichi. Misaki’s pulse spiked with the mention of the other Usami and his momentary terror didn’t go unnoticed by the older man. “He’s out of the country and uninformed about his brother’s problem, Takahashi-kun. As much as I enjoy seeing my sons happy, I’d rather it didn’t happen so much at each other’s expense.” 

Akihiko’s innocent face had devolved rapidly into a scowl just as fast as Misaki had hurtled into anxiety, but at this news his face lightened again. Misaki just had to stare at the expression – it was as close to a perky smile as he had seen the boy get so far – and didn’t even let Nowaki’s groan of discomfort distract him. The older teen had a drip line pumping into his arm as well, but his condition had continued to worsen since his collapse. He was grey-skinned and sweaty, a uselessly small cardboard bowl balanced on his chest in case of another attack of vomiting. Kamijou was fuming silently beside him, but one of his ink-stained hands rested on top of his lover’s still huge paws, the other clenched on his lap. Rarely was Misaki prone to feeling sympathetic to Kamijou the Devil, but he was feeling it hard now. 

“They’re going to move you to another hospital,” Usagi-chichi was explaining when Misaki segued back out of his haze of sympathy. “I’ll stay here until they move you, all right?”

Akihiko nodded politely and rearranged his pillows so he could sit back comfortably. “Will Tanaka-san be coming instead?”

His father gave a warped version of a smile and said, “Maybe.” He glanced away abruptly, Misaki alone spotting the flicker of unnamed in his eyes, and then grunted. “Here we go.”

Dr. Hideki and Dr. Fujioka were approaching, the woman with a handful of clipboards and the older man with a determined expression. He clomped to a halt at the end of both beds and cracked his knuckles – gaining himself a look of sheer displeasure from Dr Fujioka – and grinned sharply. “Time to go. Ambulances are waiting downstairs and my clinic is ready. Shall we move?”

Usami Fuyuhiko patted Akihiko firmly on the head. “Be good, boy. I’ll come around later in the day to visit you, all right?”

Yes, father,” mumbled the boy, a slight pout sliding into place below his blankness. Misaki wished he could step up and promise his own presence as a soothing mechanism, but since the boy didn’t know him it wasn’t going to be much use at all. Instead he stood back as a pair of porters unclipped the brakes on each bed, made sure the IV poles were securely attached and began to push the trolleys out. Dr Hideki followed closely, barking unnecessary orders all the while, and leaving Kamijou-san, Misaki, Usagi-chichi and Dr Fujioka to stand together in a miserable group and watch them go. 

“He’ll be fine, Takahashi-kun,” said Usagi-chichi, scrubbing Misaki’s hair much as he had done his son’s. “Just fine. Both of them will be.”

“Hmm…” growled Kamijou-sensei, stepping after his bedbound lover with a straightened spine and a scowl to frighten the world off. Dr. Fujioka took a last look around the empty spaces and nodded firmly, as if to satisfy herself no part of the patients had been left behind, clacking away after a sharp goodbye to the senior Usami. 

“What I said about the agreement we would have to come to remains,” said the man as they began to follow. “Beforehand, in less acute situations, I wasn’t so happy to have you about my son. But I don’t think I can begrudge you that now. You’ve certainly proved your loyalty and determination throughout this ordeal.”

Misaki muttered something he wasn’t entirely sure was words and looked away, blushing. Why couldn’t this man be consistent? He was all over the show – one minute telling Misaki to stay the hell away, the next inviting him to stay with Akihiko… It was all very confusing.

“I’m worried about him, Misaki-kun,” said Usami Fuyuhiko abruptly, stopping in front of a lift. Misaki slammed to a halt as well, shocked by the sudden change in names and the confession. “And I cannot be there for him. Even at this age he was distant from me – his upbringing with his mother saw to that – and I could never find a way to overcome that. My son does not deserve to be sick and alone, with no constant bar his hospital bed and the doctors who treat him. Right now, I would ask you to be that constant. Find a lie he’ll believe and stick with him.” That flicker crossed behind his eyes again, and Misaki realized then and there that it was fear. “Please?”

“Of course,” whispered Misaki, as Dr Fujioka reappeared at the end of the corridor and called something about holding up the ambulances. “I will.”

* * *

Misaki had always expected that ambulance rides would be highly stressfully, and this one didn’t disappoint. Almost exactly five minutes after Misaki had hauled himself into one of the ambulances, accompanied by Dr. Fujioka and a well-blanketed Akihiko, the boy had abruptly twisted to the side, thrown up and promptly collapsed in a heap. The ambulance screeched to a halt, Misaki was bundled into one of the front seats in exchange for one of the paramedics. 

Sirens were painfully loud, and Misaki clamped his hands over his ears, grimacing as his whole skull rang with the sound. The best thing about them was that it disguised the sound of medical jargon and snappish orders happening behind him. He hid his eyes as well as the ambulance rocketed through the streets, hurtled around corners and finally slid to an almost violent stop, tipping Misaki half off the seat and into the foot well. Before he could pry himself up, the trolley was lowered out of the back of the ambulance and clattered off. Dr Fujioka’s face appeared at the window, smiling tensely. She opened the door, helped Misaki up and out, and patted him on the shoulder. 

“Just another relapse, Takahashi-kun,” she said, “I think we got here just in time.”

The second ambulance screeched to a stop beside them, the trolley thudding out onto the ground and Dr Hideki leapt out after it, followed by a panicked looking Kamijou. 

“Fantastic,” sighed Dr Fujioka. “Just fantastic.”

Therefore Misaki’s first memory of the clinic was even worse than it really needed to be, and he ended up spending an hour slumped in a waiting room chair beside an antsy Kamijou sensei and under the gaze of a sulky looking receptionist. Finally they were ushered through, past rooms filled with bouncy looking teenagers and others filled with serious looking scientists, and into a long, almost empty ward. 

Of the twenty potential bed spaces, sixteen were free and only two had the curtains drawn. The other two were occupied by Usagi-san and Nowaki, both unconscious and pale. Beside him, Misaki heard Kamijou make a distressed noise in the back of his throat before the man darted over to his lover’s bedside. Rather than embarrass them both by watching, the young man padded to Akihiko’s side, glancing about at the range of expensive equipment near the head of the bed. None of it looked very fun, but thankfully nothing but the drip was connected. 

While he had been staring at the machines, Dr Fujioka had stolen up beside him. 

“It’s all just in case,” she said quietly, “It might be a good idea to have it nearby. Are you planning to stay?”

“Um… Yes, if I can?” 

She nodded and smiled tensely. “It would be helpful for you to watch him – there aren’t many doctors or nurses here unfortunately.”

“I can watch!” said Misaki, straightening his spine importantly. Yes, he would be so damn useful! If he could just feel like he could do something to help, then he might be distracted from the terrible reality. 

“Thank you. If there’s anything worrying you, Dr Hideki’s office is just down the hall or there will be medical staff in the other wards. If it’s an emergency, press that button.” She reached out and pointed to an alarmingly neon coloured button above the bed. “Anything you want to ask at the moment?”

Misaki looked about and then blinked, “Can I have a chair?”

She pointed to the comfortable looking number by the bed. “Just take the patient’s. We don’t normally allow that for infection control reasons, but you might as well right now.”

After Misaki thanked her, she moved off; he could hear her approaching Kamijou-sensei with much the same story, and then clipping off across the shiny floor. He eased himself into the chair, wriggling about to find a position that favoured his sleep-deprived body, dropped his head into a hand and set to watching Akihiko sleep.

* * *

Misaki watched and watched and watched, even as his stomach begged for food and the rest of his body begged for sleep or, at the very least, caffeine. Eventually his head drooped over the rest of his hand and he fell into a fitful sleep, waking fully when a woman called his name and gave him a light shake. It was Fujioka, looking more kempt than she had done early this morning – fresh clothes, her hair still damp in a bun at the nape of her neck and a coat of makeup that didn’t quite hide the lack of sleep. Her appearance was helped by the fresh morning light spilling through the windows at the end of the ward, drowning out the unnatural colour cast by the big fluorescent lights on the ceiling. 

“Takahashi-kun, could you come with me a moment?” she asked. He nodded and followed her out, expecting to stop by the ward doors or head to the office but carrying on to the waiting area and being shown through. 

Waiting there, looking patient but anxious, was Tanaka-san. Misaki was so relieved to see a friendly face he managed to get the man’s name right for once. 

“Takahashi-sama.” The man rose and bowed politely. “It’s good to meet you again. How are you feeling.” He had such an honest to goodness concerned look on his face that Misaki could have grabbed him and wept into his professionally knotted cravat. Instead he mumbled something about ‘coping well enough’ and managed a watery smile. 

“You know this man, Takahashi-san?” asked the doctor absently. 

“Yeah! He’s the Usami butler.” Misaki glanced back hurriedly to make sure he hadn’t offended accidentally, but Tanaka-san was nodding in polite agreement. 

“Good. You can both come back through then.” She held the door open for them. “I find it best to check with these things, you see. Especially at such a sensitive time.”

“Of course, Dr Fujioka,” said the butler, nodding firmly. “A much appreciated plan too.”

“Sometimes you just can’t be-“

“SUZUME!” A voice bellowed, making Misaki and the doctor leap with fright – Tanaka-san merely glancing from the source of the sound to his palpitating companions with his stock expression of concern. 

“Stupid old man,” growled Dr Fujioka, dropping the meekly polite act for her fangs once more. Dr Hideki rounded the corner at speed, stamping along like the ground had offended him and waving sheaves of paper like he was the prophet of some very bureaucratic religion. 

“Suzume!” he roared again, ignoring his colleague’s audience. “My office is filled with this shit! Pamphlets, articles, reports! What are you doing?”

“If I hadn’t had cleared out the second office, I would have had nowhere to sit,” she hissed back, “And since it’s all your shit, I thought you might want it back!”

“No more print-outs!” said the older doctor, ignoring Fujioka expertly. “We have technology for this these days!”

“Fine!” growled the woman, rolling her eyes resignedly. “Whatever you want, Mitsuru…”

Only now did Dr Hideki appear to notice Misaki and Tanaka-san, as the older man excused himself quietly and eased past the pair and into the ward beyond. 

“Oh. Hello.” Dr Hideki watched the other man go and glanced back to Dr Fujioka. “Who’s that?”

“The Usami family’s butler, Tanaka Soji.”

"A butler," said Dr Hideki, narrowing his eyes, his impressive eyebrows nearly touching as he scowled. "An actual butler."

"Quite common amongst my patients," said Dr Fujioka calmly.

"How the hell did you get such a cushy job, woman?" He growled, seemingly shocked when Dr Fujioka had flushed bright pink and shuffled her printouts with an snap of the wrist.

"Nepotism mostly," she grumbled, "And sheer luck. Now can we please get back to business..?"

Misaki left them to bicker and poked his head back into the little ward. The other patients' beds were surrounded by curtains still, while Nowaki's and Akihiko's beds lay open to sight. Tanaka-san was leaning over the bed, stroking Akihiko’s blonde forelock from his forehead. Kamijou-san had buckled down under the urge to sleep, and was huddled up in a terribly uncomfortable position in his chair, knees tucked up to his chin in a strangely childish position for a thirty or so year old man to achieve. As Misaki watched, Tanaka-san tucked the sheets and blankets a little closer around the small form, a distressed expression on his face. 

"Chibi-tan?"

Misaki nearly leapt a foot in the air in shock, clutching at the door frame to stabilise himself after that jolt. He almost didn't dare turn around, but a hand clamped on his shoulder and dragged him about. It was Isaka-san, looking bedraggled and bloodshot, eyes wide with horror.

"what the hell are you doing here?" The man gasped, giving Misaki a little shake.

".... Usagi-san..." said Misaki, his throat threatening to close over in misery before he cleared it and continued regardless, "He's..."

"Oh, fuck...." breathed Isaka-san, letting go of Misaki's shoulders abruptly and staggering back a bit as if he had been punched in the gut. He almost looked like he was going to cry, which was why Misaki was eternally grateful that Tanaka-san chose that movement to silently glide up and intervene. He quietly pried Misaki off the doorframe and shut the doors softly.

"Ryuuchiro-sama, do you need to sit down?" he asked patiently, already pushing the unresisting Misaki to a nearby chair. He was a saint, Misaki decided, as he dropped down onto the chair and a small plastic cup of water was placed into his hands seconds later, an underrated genius indeed - of course, he would had to have been to raise Akihiko through his teenaged years. 

“Please tell me Akihiko’s not here too,” he gasped, casting desperate eyes at the butler. 

“I’m sorry, Ryuuchiro-sama,” said Tanaka-san softly. 

“Fuck…” whimpered Isaka again, flopping into a chair a way down from Misaki like someone had just cut his strings. There he remained, head buried in his hands, for a long while before he seemed to regain his senses and looked up again. “Kaworu’s here too.”

“Ah…” Tanaka-san glanced back into the ward. 

“It’s been dreadful! There wasn’t any warning – he just woke up changed one day! He couldn’t go to work, but he was perfectly fine until a few days ago… He’s forgotten me… I had to tell him I was his social worker just to convince him that I wasn’t some creepy stalker.” Slowly, as if his limbs didn’t want to respond, Isaka-san hauled himself up and staggered past into the room. Misaki watched him go, bumping the doors open again and disappearing behind the curtains beside Usagi-san’s bed, then drawing them back cautiously. The noise woke Kamijou, who peered sleepily about for a moment before he realised someone else had entered the room and tried to organise himself into a more sensible pose. 

“Kamijou?” Isaka paused in drawing the curtains. In the bed was a child who could be none other than Asahina-san. Misaki stared at him from the safety of the hallway for a second, but there wasn’t anything he could think of saying without sounding trite. Not even Kamijou said anything as he finished trying to wriggle into a new position and met Isaka’s gaze. 

The professor stared at the other man as Misaki allowed himself to be pulled out of his chair and back into the ward by Tanaka-san. “Isaka?”

“You’re stuck in this shit-storm too, huh?” sighed the editor, stumbling slightly and nearly tugging the curtain off the rails. 

“Story of my life,” grunted Kamijou, leaning forward to look at his sleeping lover’s face more carefully for a second and then glancing up as he asked, “Are you drunk?”

“I’m hung-over,” growled Isaka. “I’ve run out of drink.” He cast a miserable look down at the bed behind himself. “Kaworu was the one who did all the shopping. I haven’t eaten in days.”

At that reminder, Misaki’s stomach growled and no amount of willing it to stop would silence the rumbling. He looked up and met Tanaka-san’s understanding gaze; blushing in embarrassment. 

“I shall fetch some food in if you want?” asked the butler. 

“I can’t ask you to do that; you’re here for Usagi-san!” Misaki exclaimed. 

The older man smiled and shook his head. “My orders were to make sure you were all right, Takahashi-sama. There is little I can do for Akihiko-sama while he’s in this state. So, food?”

“Yes, please,” murmured Misaki. He tucked himself down on his chair as the older man persuaded the other two that they also wanted food and then headed out on his errands. As much as he was desperate for lunch, Tanaka-san’s departure was a worrying event – Akihiko would have recognised the butler, but Misaki would be an unknown quantity. Plus Misaki had no clue how to deal with a teenaged Akihiko and he suspected it would be a tricky task indeed. 

And, of course, only a few minutes after Tanaka-san had left, the previously deeply unconscious blond began to twitch and shift in his sleep, finally opening his eyes and looking about. There was a thick layer of confusion and pain in his eyes, which cleared slowly until he was able to focus on the young man sitting by his bedside. 

"Who are you?" asked Akihiko, blinking sleepily at Misaki. He fought the urge to blurt out the truth - in this situation it could not end well, and distressing the boy further was a bad idea. He glanced over to where Kamijou-sensei was still silently watching over Nowaki and then to where Isaka-san was staring into space beside his de-aged secretary. Well, the man's excuse had worked well enough once already.

"I'm your social worker," said Misaki, trying to smile as nicely as possible. Isaka-san glanced around and nodded approvingly, a weak smile on his lips as Misaki continued, "How are you feeling?" 

"A social worker?" Akihiko hauled himself up onto his elbows. "Why would I need a social worker?" 

"Just to make sure you're fitting in well, in your new country," burbled Misaki, cursing the boy for being so smart. 

"I've been here for a year," said Akihiko, brows folding down and suspicion swimming across his glacial eyes. 

Across the way, Kamijou growled and swivelled his chair. "Stop fussing and accept it," he snapped. Akihiko stared at him for a second, then flopped down onto his pillows with a huff of breath. 

"All right," he said, rubbing at the cannula taped to his arm thoughtfully. When his stubby little nails started to pick at the plaster, Misaki unhooked them and set the offending hand back down again. "Sorry. It's very itchy." His face twitched momentarily and then he added, "I'm really itchy." 

After fifteen minutes of trying and failing to persuade Akihiko that scratching himself raw was probably a bad idea, Misaki gave up and went to fetch a doctor. He trailed back in behind Dr Hideki, whose no nonsense attitude earned him immediate obedience on Akihiko's part. 

"Stop scratching now," snapped the doctor, clamping a hand onto a thin wrist: Akihiko visibly gritted his teeth and stopped, nails driven into the palms of his hands to prevent himself from starting again. The doctor peered at the offending patches of skin and then frowned and looked into the boy's face. "Look up to the ceiling for me." He peered in closer as Akihiko did as he was told and then straightened again, shaking his head. "He's very pale and starting to look a bit yellow. I'll do another lot of bloods now, but I'm fairly sure it's liver damage from the antivirals." He patted Akihiko's mop of blonde hair gingerly and said, "I'm afraid there's not much I can do for that, my lad. You'll just have to try not to scratch too much." 

Akihiko sighed and clasped his hands tightly over his chest, fingers turning white from the pressure he was gripping with. 

"Good lad. Otherwise I'm sure we could fetch a pair of mittens for you." 

"Mittens...." murmured the boy glumly, clenching his hands even tighter. Dr Hideki beckoned Misaki to follow him and crossed to a store cupboard. 

He unlocked it, picking out vials and needles and cotton buds as he spoke, "Not a good sign, I'm afraid. The bloods will probably show decreasing liver function, but I'm not sure how much function he will have lost. I don't intend to stop the antivirals now anyway, he's still losing too many years and this is with the progress slowed. Right now...." he accidentally crushed a cardboard packet of plasters and frowned. "Right now, the antivirals are the things keeping him going.”

* * *

Tanaka-san’s re-arrival was a joy-filled occasion for most people in the ward. Misaki, Kamijou and Isaka-san all fell on the food like starving hyenas, while Akihiko nearly sprang out of bed at the sight of a friendly face. 

Akihiko was so delighted that Misaki took his food and left the ward completely – it ached inside to know that he couldn’t inspire such joy in Usagi-san anymore. The other men had followed him to the little garden outside, where they all chose benches in the sun. 

Misaki plucked at his food; he was hungry, but the misery clamped down hard on the urge to eat. Beside him Kamijou was staring into space but chowing down at an impressive rate. He paused for long enough to give Misaki a hefty smack on the shoulder and snap, “You better eat up. There’s been enough people collapsing all over the place.” 

The unspoken threat that if Misaki fainted from hunger, Kamijou would hide his body where no one would ever find it was enough incentive to get the younger man to tuck into his lunch. When it came to Kamijou, it never paid to assume the man was threatening when he might well be promising.

* * *

By the time the day had begun to sink into evening, the energy burst from his dinner had begun to wear off and Misaki was feeling sorely tested. Usami Akihiko looked like a little doll, albeit a little doll that was starting to develop jaundice, but he was so effortlessly difficult. He wasn’t trying to be annoying, but, dear god, he was good at it. It was a struggle to find anything to say that the child wouldn’t pick apart with devastating logic, and in the end Misaki had given up and sulked instead. 

For all his experience with the boy, Tanaka-san wasn’t having much luck with him either, but he had given up a lot faster, produced a notebook and pen from somewhere and so subdued the little monster for a good few hours until he began to feel faint and had to lie down again. 

Misaki supposed he should feel lucky though: neither Nowaki or Asahina-san had woken throughout the day, and their lovers had nothing to show for hours of watching but stiff joints. Both of them had left at various times to call various people and inform them that they would be indisposed for a while. Misaki supposed he should do the same and call his brother, but he couldn’t bring himself to face the fluttering panic he knew doing that would cause. Even worse, what if Takahiro decided he had to visit? The young man knew he couldn’t take much of that right now, and told himself he would maybe call later. He should certainly call Aikawa-san, but that would mean having to leave Akihiko’s side, even if the boy was being a pill.

It was while he was trying to decide whether or not he should get up and phone around, that Usami Fuyuhiko arrived from work. The man slung his coat off, draped it over the back of Misaki’s chair and smiled down at his son. 

“You’re looking better,” he said, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m itchy,” grumbled Akihiko. “And sore. Why am I here?” 

“Because you’re itchy and sore, boy. I would have thought that was obvious.” He patted Misaki’s shoulder as Dr. Fujioka reappeared in the ward. “Oh dear. Someone looks grim. Behave yourself while we talk to your doctor, all right?”

Akihiko nodded, tucking himself into a ball and shutting his eyes. It was almost a relief to have a reason to leave him, and Misaki fell in with the others as they followed the woman out and to Dr. Hideki’s little office. 

Neither of the doctors looked happy. Misaki felt his heart sink a bit further. 

Dr. Fujioka held up a sheaf of paper, opened her mouth and then fell silent again. Beside her, Dr. Hideki touched her hip gently, the kindness of the gesture not lost on Misaki, and she seemed to find the bravery to speak. 

“It’s not going well,” she said. “Kaworu-san and Akihiko-san’s livers are starting to show decreased function due to the antivirals. But the antivirals are the only thing slowing the progress of the disease. And there’s nothing much we can do. There’s no other route available.”

“None?” Usami Fuyuhiko straightened, towering over Misaki’s huddled form. “Are you sure?”

The woman shook her head. “I’ve been searching and searching. There’s nothing.”

“But you have a lab here!” exclaimed Kamijou loudly. “Aren’t you working on it here?!”

Both of the doctors exchanged looks, and then Dr Fujioka shuffled her papers nervously. As she spoke Dr Hideki looked away, fists clenched and teeth gritted. 

“At this point in time, with this disease, we are flying blind. We’ve already tried the antivirals, no luck there. That’s really as far as research has gotten us so far.” She blinked and took a deep breath. “You see, all of the research centres are trying different things – there’s no real consensus over what might work. That’s a problem for us because this disease isn’t a scary thing for Japan. We don’t have the right ethnic makeup for it to make a huge impact on us, but there are countries out there completely stricken with the Russian Syndrome. Two thirds of Denmark is de-aged, and half of France. Europe and North America are completely obsessed with the Russian Syndrome, and for good reason.” Here she paused and made a face. “They’re focusing massive amounts of research on this, and I can probably say that two doctors in a clinic in suburban Tokyo aren’t going to come up with the answer any faster than, say, the whole American scientific research community. We’re utterly dependent on someone else coming up with the answer and telling us.” She set her papers down and glanced at the clock. “I’m going to go check the patients again. Excuse me.”

“Sure, leave me here alone,” grumbled Dr Hideki after her. He looked back at the glum faces around him and scowled. “The best thing you can do at the moment is just stick with them. That’s really all I can advise.”

* * *

The bad news took its toll on Misaki’s reserves; while Isaka-san and Kamijou went straight back into the ward, both outwardly untouched, Misaki simply couldn’t bring himself to even look at the doors. He stood in the hallway, staring at the water-cooler and trying hopelessly to process what he had just been told. 

There wasn’t much hope, no matter how hard they tried. Akihiko would just keep getting sicker and sicker, younger and younger. He could only have a few more years in him until it all just got too much and then where did that leave Misaki? Missing another loved one and with the brand new scar of missing a lover as well. 

“Take this,” murmured Usagi-chichi, pressing something into the young man’s hands. Misaki looked at it vaguely – a handkerchief, with a little Usami Corporation logo on the corner and neatly ironed into a triangle – realising he was crying far too late to hide. “Tanaka, go and stay with Akihiko for a while please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Distantly Misaki heard the butler stride away as he tried to wipe the tears from his face. Unfortunately there was only so much the handkerchief could do, and Misaki had far more tears to cry than it could cope with. He snuffled quietly for minutes until a heavy arm draped over his shoulders, a deep voice muttered something vaguely comforting and he just went all to pieces. 

It resulted in a good half hour of tears and sobbing, acutely aware that he was crying into the chest of the biggest bastard that he knew and not being able to do anything about it. Thankfully Usami Fuyuhiko didn’t seem to mind the lapels of his expensive suit were getting soaked, and, for all the man’s other claims to bastard-hood, didn’t say a thing when Misaki finally stopped crying, pulled away in shame and blew his nose on the soggy handkerchief. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, tucking the bedraggled cloth into one of his pockets with a grimace. “I just –“

“Don’t worry, Misaki-kun.” The older man gave him a smile, and even through his still grief-blurred eyes Misaki could see the tiredness on his lined face. “This is hardly an occasion to be all smiles.” His eyes drifted past Misaki to the ward doors, brows drooping slightly. “Nevertheless, perhaps you should be relieved of bed-sitting duties until you feel in better condition.” 

Normally Misaki would have picked this out as the man trying to separate him and Usagi-san, but after that news and with Usagi-chichi’s brand new, if slightly depressed, attitude to him, it seemed innocent. And normally Misaki would have refused, since it was his Usagi-san stuck in bed, but his reserves were at the lowest ebb they had been for a long while. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing that innocent waifish face and knowing that without treatment the boy would die. Already he could feel his lower lip start to tremble and his eyes water just at the thought. 

“Fujioka-san said there was a room somewhere for relatives to sleep in. Maybe I’ll take a nap there,” he rasped, throat coarse with the force of his sobs. 

“That would be a good idea, I think.” Usami Fuyuhiko gave him another smile. “Get some sleep. I’ll watch over him tonight.”

* * *

Sleep came with horrible nightmares of dark, slippery roads and memorial stones and tears. Eventually Misaki drifted past that and into a deep, deep sleep that he woke out of grudgingly to find fresh sunlight creeping in under the blinds of the little room he’d slept in. 

He got up slowly and reluctantly, not wanting to leave the warm gloom and re-immerse himself in the cool, unhappy world outside the little door. For a moment, he was tempted to yank the blinds up and enjoy some sunshine, until he realised there was another person in one of the other beds; a young woman who had not been there when he had staggered in last night and collapsed on the nearest surface. As quietly as he could he crept out, and padded down through empty corridors. While there was light outside, it was still very early in the morning and there were no bustling nurses or technicians pounding away at the problem. 

Who Misaki did encounter was Usami Fuyuhiko heading for the exit with a cup of cheap coffee in hand. 

“Misaki-kun, good to see you up. Did you sleep well?” The businessman had looked tired before, but this morning he did look truly drained. 

“Just fine,” he said, as truthfully as he could. “Is Usagi-san alright?”

“He slept on and off through the night, but he’s dozing now.” A pained look flitted across his face. “A word of warning before you go in there, Misaki-kun – the jaundice is much worse today. It’s not… pleasant…”

Despite the dreadful sleep and the horrible news, the trauma of the past few days and the uncertainty of the future, Misaki stiffened his spine. He could deal with someone looking a bit more yellow than normal, just as long as he didn’t look younger. “Will you be back soon?”

“In the evening.” The man stifled a yawn with his free hand and checked his watch absently. “Tanaka will stay to look after you in my absence.” He ruffled Misaki’s hair gently. “Good luck, Misaki-kun.”

Misaki watched him go for a second and then padded onwards. It would be a long day, he could already tell.

* * *

Nowaki woke up to the sight of a hospital ward. His whole body throbbed, his head in particular and he felt peculiarly empty like something important had been taken away from him. He looked about but there no one sitting by his bed or loitering nearby that he recognised. In fact, there were very few people at all. Only three of the other beds were occupied, one on the far side of the room and two beside his own. 

He looked over curiously and met the gaze of the blonde boy lying in bed next to him. The boy was probably a few years younger than him, but had the oldest look in his eyes that Nowaki had ever seen. He was also a very faint yellow colour, deepened to a sick golden brown under his eyes. 

“What is this place?” asked Nowaki, quietly, hoping that the boy would speak Japanese despite his foreign looks. 

The blond boy glanced away and then slowly rolled his gaze back; he didn’t reply for so long Nowaki was almost certain that he had indeed just accosted some poor foreign child who couldn’t understand a word he was saying. 

When he did speak, it was in a polite, clipped little voice, like someone had spent a long time teaching him how to pronounce every word very properly. “I don’t know,” he said, finger knotting in the sheets, “I just woke up here.”

“Oh.” Nowaki craned forwards to look beyond the boy. “What about the guy next to you?”

The blond boy looked over and shrugged. “He hasn’t been awake.”

“Right.” Well, it was probably an idea to make the best out of a bad situation. Nowaki would start by making a friend, even if the kid did look to be about nine. “I’m Kusama Nowaki. I’m fifteen.”

He was granted a slightly confused look, and then the boy introduced himself, “Usami Akihiko.”

“What age are you?” prompted Nowaki. 

“Oh. Twelve.”

“Really?” His astonishment elicited the first twitch of emotion that Akihiko-kun seemed to experienced, and he scowled lightly. 

“Yes, really.”

“Sorry,” laughed Nowaki, quick to soothe the ruffled feathers. “You just look small, is all.”

“You aren’t helping your case any,” said Akihiko-kun simply, rolling onto his side with a light huff. Nowaki watched hopefully for a few moments, in case he rolled back over or continued to talk regardless, but there was no movement or noise and he had to admit defeat.

* * *

The hospital was eerily silent, and Nowaki, who had spent all of his life so far amidst hordes of small children and therefore lots of noise, didn’t like it at all. Occasionally he would try to lure Akihiko-kun into conversation again, but it never went any further than a few cool words and Nowaki found himself unexplainably aggravated by the younger boy’s presence. 

After about an hour of this torture, a small group of people reentered the room. One of them was dressed very formally, rather bizarre for a hospital setting Nowaki thought, while the others were all slightly bedraggled looking younger men. One of them, a handsome man with a deep scowl, spotted Nowaki sitting up in the bed and dashed over. He slid to a halt at the foot of the bed and said Nowaki’s name in a tone of such cheerful disgruntlement that the boy momentarily forgot to breathe. 

“Um. Hello?” He managed a few moments later, acutely aware that everyone except the blonde boy was watching him closely. “Um. Do I know you?”

All good cheer immediately vanished from the man’s eyes, his whole body sort of going limp while remaining standing. He opened and closed his mouth for a moment, red hot colour rising on his cheeks, before he croaked, “No. You don’t.” Without another word he turned and walked out again. Nowaki was left feeling very guilty indeed, for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of. 

There was a degree of awkwardness in the behaviour of the other men as they divided themselves between the two beds to the left of Nowaki’s. The formally dressed man – he had a cravat on, Nowaki realised with a certain amount of hysterical glee – and the youngest man took up positions by the blond boy’s side, while the other sat down by the bedside of the sleeping child who hadn’t woken up. 

Alone, and still kind of regretting accidentally chasing the handsome man away, Nowaki sat back against his pillows and set to subtly eavesdropping on the conversation carried out only feet away. 

“Are you sure you don’t want some breakfast, Akihiko-sama?” the formally dressed man was asking. He couldn’t be the child’s father, there was absolutely no family resemblance, added to the fact that no parent would give their child such an honorific. Was he a servant? Did people still have servants in this day and age? “There’s plenty left if you would like some.”

“No, thank you,” grumbled the boy, wriggling about in his sheets until they were thoroughly wrapped around his legs. No amount of weak kicking managed to dislodge them and the servant – had to be a servant, what else could the man be? – sighed and began to untangle him. “When can I go home?” 

“Not for a while, Akihiko-sama,” said the man calmly, face not even moving when the boy wriggled around again and the untangled sheets rewrapped themselves like constricting snakes. He merely repeated the exercise and then placed his hands on the boy’s knees. “I know you’re very itchy, Akihiko-sama, but you have to stop scratching. You will hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” snapped the child, momentarily losing his cool. With everyone’s eyes back on him, most of them fairly shocked by the outburst, he blushed and fell silent abruptly. 

“Is it very itchy?” asked the young man, who had previously not spoken. His place was unknown – he wasn’t dressed as fancily as the servant and there wasn’t any resemblance to the boy he was sitting aside, apart from the fact they both had unusual eye colours. Maybe a distant relation? 

“Extremely,” said the boy, his voice resettled into the clipped, polite tones again. He still looked embarrassed at his own outburst, but there was a fix to his jaw that indicated he intended to forget it very quickly. “Why are you still here? Aren’t social workers meant to do things?”

“I’m just making sure you’re all right,” said the young man, eyes narrowing. “That’s all I’m interested in at the moment.”

“I am all right, though!” exclaimed the boy, heaving himself up onto his elbows. He was starting to look distinctly distressed. “Please, can’t I go home?”

“Akihiko-sama,” sighed the servant, taking his hands off the boy’s knees and moving to gently push the boy back down. “Calm down, please. You’re getting overly worked up now.”

“Please, take me home, Tanaka-san? Please, I’ll be good!” 

“Oh, Akihiko-sama… I’m afraid I can’t do that. You need to be here, so I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.” He stroked the blond forelock back from the pale face. “Just relax back there and try to get some sleep.”

“I’ve been sleeping all morning. It’s not helping!” 

“Would you like me to fetch your notebook then?” He reached into a bedside cupboard and produced a cheap little pulp paper notebook, dangling it in front of the child’s face. Almost immediately, it seemed to have a calming effect; Akihiko-kun took the book and flickered through a few pages, his distress dissolving down into calmness. “See, now you’re fine.”

“Hmm?” The boy flipped to a blank page and stared at it thoughtfully. 

“Here’s your pen.” The man slipped the biro into the thin fingers and stood back, a mildly proud expression on his face. “All right now?”

“Yes, Tanaka-san,” said Akihiko-kun absently, pen already scoring along the page at full pace. Meanwhile the young man sitting beside him was looking about in sheer confusion. 

“Sure-fire way to stop him panicking,” said the servant, meeting the younger man’s confused gaze. “Look.” He waved his hand in front of the boy’s face and gained nothing more than a scowl and vague bat away. “It was a handy trick to master.”

With that little conflict sorted, Nowaki didn’t have anything to listen to anymore. The servant disappeared, vanishing in the corridors and the young man- the social worker – leant forward on his elbows to watch the boy write. Nowaki would have felt intensely self-conscious with someone watching him so closely, but Akihiko-kun was so rapt with his writing he didn’t seem to notice or care.

Thankfully, Nowaki wasn’t left bereft of entertainment for long. The handsome man he’d somehow chased off returned, trudging rather than stomping like Nowaki felt he should be. He sat down hard in the seat beside the teenager’s bed and clasped his hands tightly in his lap, scowling down at them. Part of Nowaki longed to reach out and smooth the anger lines away, and he was sort of horrified he was having such thoughts. He understood them, his parents had given him The Talk not long ago and he’d had vague drooling daydreams about pretty girls but mostly pretty boys. No one had ever mentioned if he was allowed to like boys, but right now staring at this man’s overwrought face Nowaki was sure he did. 

“I’m sorry if I offended you earlier,” Nowaki said earnestly. 

The man didn’t look up, but snorted and grumbled, “I wasn’t offended at all. Don’t be so cocky.”

“Yes, sorry,” Nowaki smiled winningly, and, even though the man wasn’t even looking at him, he still flinched. “Who are you?”

“Kamijou Hiroki,” muttered the man. His eyes flickered for a second and then he murmured, “Your social worker.”

Nowaki’s heart lurched in his chest. A social worker? But why? They only turned up when you were being adopted, you’d been bad or someone was hurting you; as far as Nowaki was aware, neither had happened to him. He must have let his distress show somehow, as Kamijou-san grunted something about his parents just being busy. 

“I’ve called them, but they can’t come to see you yet.” He pulled a black device out of his pocket and tapped it. “There’s too many of the other kids sick with the flu or something…” He tone indicated he didn’t approve. “They said they’d speak to you on the phone if you wanted..?”

Nowaki shook his head and explained, “If they’re busy with sick kids, I’d better not bother them.”

Kamijou-san stared at him for a second, lips pursed and eyes narrowed before he shrugged and put the device back in his pocket. “Suit yourself.”

They made conversation, curious on Nowaki’s part and distinctly more perfunctory on Kamijou-san’s, until midday when Nowaki started to feel faint. 

This announcement made Kamijou-san’s scowl deepen even further and Nowaki only had enough time to ask him if he was all right before the boy’s world blacked out completely.

* * *

Misaki had spent the day watching Usagi-san get progressively yellower and grumpier. Eventually not even the lure of pen and paper was enough, and Akihiko resorted to curling up on his side, clutching at his stomach with one arm and plucking unhappily at his IV line with the other hand. Tanaka-san had vanished mysteriously, and Misaki wasn’t feeling up to engaging the child in conversation again. Happily, Akihiko seemed highly content not to talk.

After a long while, Misaki gave up on even just sitting there; watching Akihiko write was hypnotising, but watching the child lie there was simply depressing. Misaki couldn’t take many more depressing things at the moment and excused himself quietly. Akihiko didn’t respond.

* * *

When the social worker left Akihiko’s side, the boy wriggled over onto his back and sprawled out as best he could on the hospital bed. It felt as though his skin was burning on the inside, itching until he wanted to scratch himself raw. Even his eyes itched. 

Even worse, the itch was stopping him from writing. He just couldn’t focus with the scribbling, pinching sensation bubbling beneath the surface. His stomach ached, his joints throbbed, his muscles felt like strips of wet felt and the needle in his forearm was surrounded by a bruise from his wrist to his elbow. 

Sleep would be a fantastic option, even though he had already slept for most of the morning, but the itching stopped any chance of that. Part of him was tempted to smack his head off the metal rails at the head of his bed until he was unconscious, but equally he wasn’t fond enough of concussions to do such a thing. The lucky sods in the beds either side of him were asleep, both of their companions quietly abandoning their perches and following Akihiko’s social worker out; replaced only by silence. For a moment Akihiko’s eyes drooped, mind lulled by the sudden quiet, only to be startled awake again when a pair of adults entered the room. 

It was a thin, sallow looking woman, chewing anxiously on her fingernails, accompanied by the male doctor with the huge eyebrows. Akihiko watched them sleepily for a moment until he noticed the woman’s eyes were brimming over with tears. He couldn’t stand tears: tears were weak and shameful and pathetic. When she spoke, her voice trembled painfully. 

“I know you’ve done everything you can, doctor, but…” The woman wrung her hands, tears falling down her face freely. “I think being in his home country is a better plan for my husband.”

“Of course, Evans-san,” said the gruff doctor, gently setting his notes down on the bedside table. “You must do what you feel is the best. Is there anything I can help with?”

“No, thank you, Dr. Hideki,” she whispered. Akihiko rolled over again to give them some privacy as she buckled into the doctor’s arms and wept. 

It took a long while for the woman’s tears to die away and then the gruff doctor led her out of the room. Akihiko could still hear them talking in the corridor and buried his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to hear this, but everyone was so loud and there were all doing his head in. For a moment he was considering getting up and closing the curtains at the end of his bed, but even sitting up made his head swim uncontrollably and the drip in his arm stopped him from moving any distance. The older teen in the bed to his right was awake and watching him again as he flopped back down onto his sheets, a look of concern on his face. 

“Are you all right?” Kusama asked, inching himself further up in his bed. Akihiko stared at him, hating him silently and uncharitably for a few moments. 

“Fine,” he grunted, reaching up to bend his stupid pillow in two, so it would actually cushion his head. “Perfect.”

“Only you look pale.”

They’ve been stealing vials of my blood every hour; of course I’m pale!” was what Akihiko really wanted to say, just to take his displeasure out on some unsuspecting victim. Instead he said, “I’m naturally pale.”

“You aren’t fully Japanese, are you?”

Akihiko sighed: he’d moved here two years ago and it was still a rare week went by when someone didn’t point out he was not from here. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed already. “No. I’m not.”

“Oh. What are you then?”

Akihiko’s head snapped around so fast he felt his brain lurch against the inside of his skull. When his sight finally cleared he was able to see the innocent expression on the Kusama’s face. Satisfied there wasn’t any malice in the question, he answered, “One quarter Anglo-French.”

“But you look so foreign!” exclaimed the boy in disbelief. 

“Genetics,” grumbled Akihiko, closing his eyes pointedly. For a few second he thought he would finally have silence, blessed beautiful silence, but then Kusama cleared his throat nervously. 

“So… Where is this place exactly?”

“We’ve had this conversation already,” said Akihiko, aware he was whining and not caring at all. “I don’t know…”

“I don’t remember that…” The other boy scratched his head, confused. “I don’t even remember meeting you before.” He smiled broadly, “I’m Kusama Nowaki.”

“You already know who I am,” groaned Akihiko, clenching his eyes closed tighter. Even behind closed lids, the world was swimming and his head throbbed sickeningly. 

“But I don’t!” snapped Kusama, falling into sulky silence. For another happy moment Akihiko relaxed as best he could into the paltry pillows, but then the ward doors crunched open and heavy footsteps strode in. 

“Mon Dieu…” 

“I don’t know what that meant, boy, but it sounded like swearing to me,” said his father, arriving at the foot of his bed and twitching an eyebrow at him, slinging his heavy coat over his elbow as he did so. “They said you were feeling grumpy.”

“Grumpy?” muttered Akihiko. 

“Someone may have used the phrase ‘ yet strangely adorable’ at some point.”

Akihiko’s scowl deepened so much his head began to ache. 

His father shook his head and padded closer, to gently scrub Akihiko’s hair. This eased the itch in his scalp, but did little for the pain lurking behind the itch waiting for a gap to sneak through; he gritted his teeth and didn’t complain though. 

“Tanaka said you were upset,” said his father, an unusual amount of sympathy in his voice. “How are you feeling now?”

“I want to go home,” Akihiko said, with no small amount of conviction. He wanted his own bed and his own space and the comfort that came with both. Hospitals were all well and good, but it wasn’t doing anything for his general sense of misery. “Can’t I?”

“Perhaps when you’re not quite so yellow.” His father petted his hair again, his expression no longer calm but rather sad. Akihiko hadn’t seen his father with such an expression ever since the man had last turned up in England, to take Akihiko and his mother back to Japan before the woman managed to kill them both. Then, standing beside his drunk, doped-up and raving mother, the expression had been sympathetic and comforting. Now, trapped in his bed, itchy, sore and miserable, it was more than a little worrying. 

“Why am I yellow?” he murmured, examining a hand carefully. 

“The medicine is making you jaundiced, my son.” His father’s hand stilled momentarily, and then scrubbed Akihiko’s hair harder. “Are you feeling up to eating anything?”

Akihiko shook his head weakly, tossing his father’s hand off accidentally and regretting the loss immediately. 

“If you don’t, they’ll have to tube-feed you, you know.”

“Can’t make me feel any worse,” said Akihiko softly. 

Fuyuhiko shook his head and glanced away. “Oh look. Another doctor approaches. Maybe we should ask her opinion on your eating habits.”

Murmuring something noncommittal, Akihiko subsided further into the pillow. People were starting to gather around his bed again, just when he had been most desperate to be left alone. It didn’t seem fair.

* * *

As Dr. Fujioka returned to the ward with a bottle of fresh medication and a syringe, Misaki allowed himself to be drawn into her wake and therefore her tired conversation with Kamijou-sensei about how the antivirals worked. Or weren’t working all that well in this case.

They found Usami Fuyuhiko leaning on the cupboard next to his son’s bed, flicking through the pages of the boy’s notebook without much attention or interest. Misaki spotted the man tucking it into his blazer pocket before he turned fully around, but decided not to say anything – it seemed petty and cruel in the situation. 

“Another dose of antivirals,” said the doctor, putting on her best cheery voice. It fell rather flat in the silence of the ward, and she dropped the act fairly quickly when it became clear that Akihiko really didn’t care. 

“He was talking until a few minutes ago. Still grumpy I’m afraid…” Usami Fuyuhiko scrubbed a hand through his own hair. Misaki once again registered just how tired and old the man looked now. He had wanted another chance with his son, but it was evidently striking the man that this might be the last chance he would ever get. 

Akihiko had fallen silent again after his talk with his father, eyes closed and face drawn. He was starting to look extremely yellow in comparison to his normal porcelain white skin tone, which Misaki supposed was almost certainly a bad thing. Nevertheless, Dr Fujioka slipped the syringe into the IV line and slowly pressed the plunger down. 

“Your arm might sting for a moment, Akihiko-kun,” she said softly, “You just speak up if it hurts too much, ok?”

Akihiko nodded tightly, but said nothing. The doctor hovered over the bed for a second, then turned to pace away, pausing only to give Misaki’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Before she could leave the ward, Dr Hideki entered and pulled her aside to mutter something in her ear. Misaki watched, dully, as the woman shook her head and pulled away from her older colleague, trudging now more than anything else. As she trailed along, she pulled her phone from her pocket, flicking buttons absently. 

The man approached, shooting an unhappy glance at the boy in the bed on the opposite side of the room. He nodded politely to the people about the beds, and bent to compare the patient notes on the foot of Akihiko’s bed with a series he had removed from his pocket. He didn’t seem pleased, and when he stood up, he asked that they accompanied him to his office. 

“Is it going to be bad news?” mumbled Isaka-san, staring at Asahina-san still. He had already retaken his seat at his secretary’s side; Misaki wasn’t sure the man was really capable of doing anything bar staring into space anymore. Kamijou had managed not to collapse into his chair again – he was coping with a steely determination that Misaki could only wish to emulate. This was ignoring when Misaki had gone to the bathroom and heard the man weeping quietly in the next stall, but that was a momentary flutter and the teacher seemed to be up to strength again already. Misaki himself had hoped his time away from Akihiko’s bedside would ease his own pain, but it had only made him feel droopier and more worried. If something went wrong, he needed to be close, so he could have that little extra time… The thought of missing even a moment made his throat close up with grief. 

“It’s not… good.”

The man shook his head. “I’ll stay put them I’ve heard enough bad news to do me at the moment.”

Dr Hideki nodded gravely. “If the rest of you would follow me.”

He led them from the ward and to a small office, where he took the chair behind the desk. Misaki was intending to hover nervously, but ended up being pushed down into one of the two other chairs by Usagi-chichi. The older took up a station by the window, and in the weak daylight filtering down Misaki could see each line on his face cast into deep relief. He still looked tired and now much older than before, like the realisation of just how sick his son had finally sunk in. It was another moment Misaki found himself feeling sorry for the man, managing to finally put aside just how much of a bastard Usami Fuyuhiko was capable of being. As Kamijou-sensei sank reluctantly into the free chair, casting an anxious look at Usagi-chichi himself, Dr. Hideki began to speak. 

“It’s not looking good for anyone of them. At the moment we’re running on empty as far as ideas go, and there’s nothing new coming in. We’re upping the antiviral doses again, especially for Usami-san, to see if we can slow the progress any further, but we don’t want to go too far. Obviously high doses of any drug over an extended period of time is liable to end badly, and we’re already starting to see high markers of liver and kidney damage in Usami-san’s bloods.” He gritted his teeth and said, “Right now, without a cure and depending solely on the antivirals… I don’t see any of them surviving the week.”

Silence fell. Misaki clenched his hands on his lap and bottled his tears up as best he could. There was no way he was breaking down again in front of his teacher and his lover’s father – that was a whole other realm of humiliating that not even living with Akihiko for five years had prepared him for. When he thought he might be able to handle it, he looked up. 

Kamijou-sensei was sitting very still, arms crossed over his chest and eyes distant. Over by the window, Usagi-chichi was staring out at the pitiful little garden, an unreadable expression on his face. Neither of them seemed keen to move from this little office and get back to the ward, so Misaki stayed put as well. Behind his desk, Dr. Hideki clasped his hands on his desk and scowled down at them like they’d personally offended him. 

Seconds later, Dr. Fujioka burst in. Everyone jumped in shock and fixed her with horrified expressions as she brandished her phone in front of her like a tablet of commandments. 

“What’s happened?” barked Dr. Hideki, springing up from his chair. Misaki leapt up too, without really meaning to, and felt a big hand clamp down on his shoulder as Usagi-chichi moved closer – for such a big, stocky man, he could move really swiftly and silently when he needed to. “For god’s sake, Suzume, tell us!”

“A cure!” she gasped, “A cure!”


	17. Chapter 17

"Can we ask others to contract the disease?" Dr Hideki asked, eyes flickering madly as he scanned the phone screen. "Really? They're trialled this?"

"As much as possible. And it's working, Mitsuru, it's working. We really don't have much of a choice," the woman said, eyes sad and soft in her face. "I don't know if it will work with these guys, but it's worked elsewhere. If we don't take this chance, then they're screwed for definite. If we do, maybe there's a chance it'll work."

For a moment Misaki could have sworn that Dr Hideki was going to shove the phone back at his younger colleague and snap "No.". But instead, he nodded, stood up and kissed her hard. "Goddamn it woman, you're a godsend." Then he ruined it all by clicking his fingers at her and beckoning to follow him like some sort of dog. "Let's get this news to the labs and we can start."

"You haven't been around women much..?" Dr Fujioka growled, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "Next time, brush your teeth. You taste like stale coffee." She tore off after him nonetheless.

Misaki found himself sitting silently in front of the vacated desk and feeling just as confused and Kamijou-san and Usagi-chichi looked.

"They said cure right?" asked Kamijou, his voice a raspy shell of its normal growl. "If they said cure, I want to know what's going on..."

"That makes two of us." Usami Fuyuhiko narrowed his eyes at the door. "You two go back to the ward. I'll find out."

* * *

Misaki hadn't got his hopes up. Part of him knew that it wasn't going to be worth doing that. He knew he was going to spend the rest of Akihiko's life sitting in this chair, watching the blond sleep uncomfortably, sweating and grey-skinned once more as the virus inveigled its way a little deeper into his system. Had he reached the same stage as Isaka-san already - locked into this horrible nightmare with no way of escape? There wasn't a single thing he could do to make it better, so the only relief was vacancy, letting his mind go blank.

The terrible thought that this was why Akihiko pulled his blank face so often had crossed Misaki's mind, but then the soothing cotton clouds of not being able to give a damn anymore rolled back in, and the young man flopped back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

"Rise and shine," rumbled a voice, waking Misaki out of a doze he hadn't realised he'd slipped into. It was Usami Fuyuhiko, with his suit jacket abandoned and shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He was smiling, Misaki realised stupidly, and the thought that the cure might actually be a working thing made the young man's heart hammer in his chest. "You're wanted in the lab. End of the corridor and to the right. I'll take over here."

Misaki heaved himself up and padded away without words. He didn't trust himself - he'd blurt out something horrendously embarrassing, or he'd burst into tears, or be sick or something of the sort. His feet trailed over the lino, shoes squeaking loudly in the empty corridor as he traipsed to the end and turned right.

The laboratory looked like a particularly bloody murder scene. There were vials of blood everywhere - on trays, on racks, on the table, on chairs, sitting on top of the fridge they were clearly meant to be placed in before their conveyer had gotten distracted. On a rickety looking trolley, Kamijou-san was being menaced by Dr. Hideki, wielding a large needle and a slightly mad expression, while Dr Fujioka looked on. She turned when Misaki entered and nearly leapt on him with joy.

"Just the man I was waiting for. You've been typed for immunity, yes?"

"Yes," said Misaki, "You did that."

The woman paused in riffling through a selection of needles and thought for a moment. "Oh yes. Seems like months ago, but it was only a couple of weeks..." She chose a needle and set it on a bench. "Right. Here's the premise. We infect you, redraw your blood and separate the antibodies to the virus we've infected you with. How about that?"

"Um." Misaki stared at her for a second. "What?"

"This is the cure. It's been a tough ride, apparently, because while they can easily isolate the viral antigens and tell the difference between the strains, as soon as they tried to denature and inactivate them enough to make a vaccine, the whole thing would just disintegrate. So, someone gave up and jabbed someone who had survived and already had an immunity, nicked their antibodies and, hey presto."

"I still thought the antibodies were produced by being infected initially..." grumbled Kamijou from his bed.

"You were infected," said Dr Hideki firmly, "But the virus couldn't exploit your genes well enough to survive. You probably had a day of cold-like symptoms around the same time your partners came down with the syndrome, but ignored it. As a result, you have antibodies. And because you've been in close contact with them, you'll be immune to the exact same strain."

Kamijou made a huffing noise, rubbing at the spot where he'd just been jabbed with the needle, and then accepting a plaster with bad grace. He hopped off the trolley bed so Misaki could clamber up, but remained loitering in the lab as the doctors prepared to unleash their needles on his student.

"It's been a long time since I took biology, but this just seems… wrong to me…" the man grumbled.

"Look, we jab you with the strain of disease your Kusama has, you produce the antibodies, we take your blood, sift out what we want and dose your man to the gills with it and hope it works. His immune system will react to the antibodies attaching to the virus and, with a great deal of supportive therapy, he should either start getting a bit better." She shrugged. "It may not last very long, but that might be long enough.

"Hedging your bets, huh?" said Kamijou, but he didn't question anymore.

Misaki did though, even as he scrawled his name on the clipboard Dr Hideki had slapped across his lap. "Why are you so unsure?"

"The virus is in all the cells," said Dr. Fujioka. "That's why recovery takes so long. But the antibodies might not last as long as that, so the recovery process could just stop partway through. Since the antibodies are from another source, the body can't make more and immunity is temporary. We'll need an attenuated or killed vaccine before we can have that, but this'll do for now."

Misaki held his arm out. "Do it then."

By the end of the afternoon, all of bedside regulars were nursing plasters on their arms and a small horde of people had been drafted in. Most of the lab techs had sacrificed themselves, as had Dr Hideki and Dr Fujioka. Misaki had called up Aikawa-san, Todo, Sumi and his brother and sister-in-law, hoping that at least one might turn up.

To his surprise, and delight, all of them did and all willingly submitted their blood for immunity checks. Sumi in particular seemed very remorseful, and seemed to be nursing a peculiar limp that became ten times worse when Misaki introduced him to Usami Fuyuhiko.

"Interesting gait there," said the businessman, after Sumi had made his blanched excuses and hobbled off to the exit. "Like he's been kicked in the family jewels, as it were."

Sumi was creepy, but was he deserving-of-paternal-wrath-creepy? Misaki decided it was probably best not to inform Usagi-chichi of Sumi's propensity for obsessing over Akihiko.

* * *

Akihiko woke in terror; breath constricting his chest, his throat closing over, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, heart pounding. He managed to haul himself upright, looking about the place with wide eyes. It was a hospital, and he was lying in a bed and there was one of those horrible needles in his arm and when he yanked it out blood spilt everywhere, but Akihiko didn't care. He had to… to… do something, he wasn't sure what it was but he had to do it. And he had to do it quickly, because removing the needle had somehow set off an alarm, and now nurses and doctors would find him and they'd tell his mother that he'd been bad.

The floor tiles were painfully cold on his feet, making his toes cramp, and his legs struggled to hold his weight. He managed a step, another, and then both his knees decided that was enough and he toppled to the floor, smacking his head off the metal undercarriage of the bed beside him as he fell.

"Damn it," he groaned, clutching at the throbbing knot on his head. A curious face peered down over the side of the bed and asked Akihiko something in a foreign language. He could understand only a few words out of what was said, since the language was Japanese and Akihiko was meant to be able to speak it. But he was out of practise, since he hadn't seen his father in years and speaking Japanese made his mother angry. And also he had just smacked his head off a metal pole. The person asked the question again, but the ringing noise in Akihiko's ears made it impossible for him to even make out the words this time. The floor was shaking too – that wasn't meant to happen surely?

"Get up, useless," he grunted to himself, finally hauling together enough strength to stand up and totter a few more steps. Each step was increasingly difficult to take, and he had to support himself on his own bed.

"Akihiko!" snapped a voice. Akihiko looked up and found he was being advanced upon by a pair of doctors in white coats, his father and a trio of people he didn't recognise. The female doctor stepped forward, heels clicking on the lino, hands held out calmly. She spoke in Japanese, calming soft words that Akihiko couldn't even bring himself to try and understand, creeping forward a step at a time.

"Don't touch me," he croaked, staggering back. "Go away." It was getting agonisingly hard to breathe, he realised, like the air was thick soup.

"Akihiko," rumbled his father, moving forward past the doctor. He was also speaking Japanese, but seemed much less calm and much more irritable. For a second, Akihiko was almost tempted to run but he didn't think he could manage more than a few metres. Instead he half-folded up, and tried not to smile too obviously when his father caught him. His mother would have been angry, but his father was always nice when he was sick.

He was lifted back onto the bed again, digging his fingers into his father's shirt front so the man couldn't leave him again.

"All right," said his father, unplucking each of Akihiko's fingers from the expensive cotton of his shirt, finally getting the hint and speaking in English. "Just relax, there's a good boy, and let the doctors put the IV back in."

"No," grumbled Akihiko, blinking fuzzily. "I hate those things."

"Stop that, my lad. Lie still." The man finally managed to detach himself and beckoned for the doctors to come forth. "You're in a hospital in Tokyo, Akihiko, so you need to speak Japanese."

"I can't," said Akihiko, trying to fend off the doctors with weak hands. "I want to go home…" Which was a lie of course, since his mother would be there and she'd be angry and vicious and Akihiko didn't want to be hurt anymore. He was hurting too much already.

But then one of the doctors jabbed his thigh with a syringe, and the flush of whatever was in the injection coursed through his body, wiping the pain away and replacing it with a fluffy cotton-cloud feeling and a distant sort of nausea. He opened his mouth to thank whichever one of them had helped him so, but his tongue seemed to get in the way. The female doctor smiled down at him kindly, and Akihiko tried to smile back but his whole mouth had gone numb, everything had gone numb. He wasn't sure whether that was better or not.

* * *

"Not a good sign," said Dr. Hideki, as Akihiko sank back into a stupor, eyes huge, sad and scared. Misaki had never felt so bad for a person as he did right then; while the child was as stoic as it was possible for such a small creature to be, he was still obviously miserable. "Do you know what age he is now, Usami-san?"

"He's speaking English again, so I'd say ten or less." Usami Fuyuhiko drew himself up to his full height, "This cure of yours – how long is it going to take?"

"It's up to your bodies to produce the antibodies now," said the doctor. "We'll just keep checking you from now on. It may take a week to get the highest amount, but as soon as we see collectable amounts we'll take it."

Frowning, Usami Fuyuhiko looked down at his son again and said, "He's not going to survive a week."

"This is the only thing we can do," murmured Dr. Hideki, eyebrows drooping down glumly. "Aside from hope of course."

* * *

Despite the original delight that the cure had prompted, the problems kept mounting. Akihiko's regression had sunk him below the 10 year mark - judging by his fairly pathetic Japanese skills anyway - which had been the point at which the disease started to kill off its sufferers. The boy wasn't well, not by any view, but he was definitely not dead yet, so the doctors seemed tentively hopeful. Misaki wasn't so sure, but he clung onto their reassurance anyway because the horror that was seeing Usami Akihiko as a heavily jaundiced unhappy ten year old was just overwhelming.

Meanwhile, Asahina-san had woken up briefly, taken a baffled look around at the pale adults and the sick children and flopped back into unconsciousness without a word. He was also regressing, but his strain didn't seem to work quite as fast as Akihiko's did and he still had a small amount of time left. Nowaki was, by far, the best out of the three of them, but even he seemed to be lacking his cheerful smile of late; he was also starting to look a bit more yellow than a healthy person should.

"We just have to wait a few days," said Dr Fujioka as she swabbed Misaki's arm in preparation for yet another needle. She was checking his antibody levels repeatedly, hunting him down every couple of hour and producing needles like a magician produced rabbits out of hats. "Perhaps only one, but we need as many antibodies as we can get... We can get original doses from you, Kamijou-san and Isaka-san, since you've already been affected. The others we've had to infect originally, but we'll monitor them every day until we can get a good dose from them." She wiped her brow and sighed, she was starting to look a bit pasty, Misaki noticed. It didn't seem charitable to point it out though, so he kept quiet.

Misaki sat and watched as his blood oozed out into the vial, moving just as lethargically as he himself felt.

"Before we take more blood, you need to drink something," said the woman, tapping the vial thoughtfully. "Trot off and get a drink while I do the tests."

For want of anything else to do, Misaki went to the water cooler, sat down beside it and began to drink his way through most of his weight in water. It was a terrible pity that it wasn't alcoholic, but there wasn't much he could do about that. With a stomach full of water and churning unhappily, Misaki huddled up in the chair – sleep was calling on him again, to ward off the shock of the situation, and he wasn't prepared to fight it off for too long.

So it was that once again he was woken by someone leaning over him, but at least this time it wasn't Usami Fuyuhiko, with his worrying smile and never quite honest expression. It was Dr. Fujioka, with a happy grin and holding a small scrap of paper.

"Perfect levels," she said, helping Misaki up and redirecting him back to the lab. "Ready for this?"

Misaki nodded. He'd do anything for this to be over.

* * *

Akihiko kept waking up, sad and hurting, confused and desperate to curl in on himself throughout the night, as the lab machines churned and whirled away working the donated blood into the cure. By now, he was a truly wretched yellow colour, and Dr Fujioka regretfully announced that the antivirals were just not worth the risk anymore, disconnecting the drip.

No longer could Misaki sit by the child's bedside and pretend he was even doing the slightest bit of good; the child no longer had eyes for anyone but his father. Not even Tanaka-san was given a second glance, and as time went on even Usami Fuyuhiko's presence failed to provide much comfort.

Asahina-san remained unconscious, while Nowaki lay still in his bed and watched the father and son duo in the next cubicle with morose eyes. Every so often he would glance back over at Kamijou-san, who was snoozing uncomfortably in his chair once more. Misaki almost envied him, in that he could not be replaced or bypassed in preference for anyone else and that he didn't have to feel guilty that he was thinking such jealous thoughts.

While Misaki lurked just inside the ward doors and watched glumly, the tapping of heels attracted his attention to down the corridor. A nurse was bustling up, pushing a small trolley, flanked by the two doctors. They looked very serious and professional, preparing three small syringes from three little vials of clear solution and arranging them delicately.

"Are we ready?" asked Dr. Fujioka, handing a syringe to Dr. Hideki.

"As we'll ever be, I suspect." Usami Fuyuhiko said, stepping away from the bed and beckoning for Misaki to join him. Obediently he crept over into the shadow of his lover's father and became a reluctant onlooker to the administration of the antibodies. In flushing the syringe into the boy's system, Dr. Hideki nearly got bitten for his troubles as Akihiko really didn't appreciate anyone messing with him anymore. "How long will it take?"

"Could be half an hour, could be a day or two." Dr Fujioka exchanged the empty syringe for a full one, as Dr Hideki went to Asahina-san's side. "We'll just be watching them for now on."

Misaki had had enough of watching by now.

* * *

It didn't seem to work.

All three children remained ill and unhappy. It was unsaid, but it was nevertheless clear that even the doctors had expected a much quicker turn around to what they were receiving. It grew even worse when Akihiko and Nowaki slipped gradually into unconsciousness as well.

The small group of relatives, friends and doctors congregated out in the hallway, all slumped down on the hard plastic chairs and pointedly not meeting each other's gazes. Dr Fujioka leant her head down onto the older doctor's shoulder, her hair hiding her face from view.

"The others are due to arrive in a few hours," said Dr Hideki, his gruff voice a shell of its normal self.

"You aren't helping," murmured Dr Fujioka, "Shush, Mitsuru."

Misaki tucked his face into his hands and drove his nails into his skin, hoping the pain would distract him from the sinking realisation that it was the end. His Akihiko was going to die, and they wasn't anything he could do about it. He'd done all he could, which wasn't very much, and now they were at the end of the road. He'd say goodbye to someone that couldn't hear him and wouldn't understand if they could. Tears were leaking past his closed eyelids now, his hunched over body shaking with the muffled force of his sobs.

The sound of his weeping was swiftly echoed by the shaky wail of an alarm. Misaki looked up in bleary horror as the doctors leapt up.

"Stay here!" snapped Dr. Hideki, "We'll call you in if…" He didn't finish, choosing to follow his colleague, who had already dashed off at full speed. Misaki buried his face in his hands again, cringing with every wail of the siren and nearly choking on his breath when the noise stopped abruptly. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening, no, no, no…

"Usami-san, Takahashi-kun?" Dr Fujioka called to them. Misaki forgot how to breathe right then, as Akihiko's father half-hauled him to his feet and dragged him into the ward. His fingers were painfully tight on Misaki's arm, and then simply dropped away. He heard the man laugh shortly, and coaxed his eyes to open, peeled his palms off his face and found himself staring at a sight he never thought he'd see again.

Akihiko was sitting up in his bed, hand clenched tightly around the bed remote, so tightly the plastic was audibly cracking in his small grip. He was still yellow, and still exhausted looking, but the change was dramatic and the pressure that had been crushing Misaki only seconds before lifted.

The expression on Akihiko's young face was so grumpy and frustrated that Misaki wanted to leap for joy, because it wasn't not young Akihiko's expression at all, but that one traditionally pulled by the thirty or so year old man whenever he was in a pissy mood.

"What," said Akihiko, his voice raw and raspy, eyes narrowed in a short-tempered manner, "The fuck is going on here?"

The treatment had worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay!
> 
> What the doctors are trying is artificially acquired passive immunity – normally it's just used for vaccination purposes, but it has been used for treating hepatitis and once for treating the Ebola virus. Antibodies normally take longer than the above to form in the human body, but I've employed a certain amount of artistic license throughout this chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

As Dr Fujioka and Usagi-chichi explained the whole situation, Misaki could only stare. Akihiko still looked dreadful – yellow skin, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, still in a ten year old body – but he back. He was the same grumpy, antisocial, arrogant bastard that Misaki loved again. It was over. Finally. 

“I’m really glad I don’t remember any of this,” muttered Akihiko when they were done. His face flickered momentarily into panic and he tried to sit further up, his arms shaking with the effort. “Where’s Misaki? Is he all right? You didn’t just take his blood and leave him?”

“He’s fine,” said Usami Fuyuhiko, towing Misaki out of his shadow and pushing his forward. “And now that you’re fine, I better check no one’s run my company into the ground.”

Misaki did some hurried recollecting and squeaked, “You haven’t left in days!”

“God,” said Akihiko, “I must have been really sick to receive such attention.”

His father merely rolled his eyes and helped Dr Fujioka drew the curtains around the bed. “It’s good to see you well again, Akihiko,” he said, and left without another word. 

Misaki took a deep breath, enjoying the gloomy sanctuary that the curtains provided and edged over to his seat again. Usagi-san was watching him with big blue eyes that were tired but glittering with life. When Misaki opened his mouth to try to speak, the words just dried up and he simply laid his head down on the sheets by Usagi-san’s side. Seconds later, delicate shaking fingers combed through his hair and he smiled against the cotton. 

“Thank you for helping me,” said Usagi-san quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Misaki croaked. 

“Making you suffer through this. The idea of you hurting… it’s horrible. Especially when it was my fault.”

“Stupid Usagi-san.” Misaki gasped, the first tears of relief starting to spill down his face. He desperately wanted his big, broad author to hold him close to soothe him with a deep voice and silken words, but clinging to a feverish ten year old who was capable only of draping his arms around Misaki’s neck and nuzzling into his hair. It was almost an acceptable substitute given the circumstances. 

He didn’t cry for long, but remained clinging for far longer, just because he could. In the meantime, he head a second and a third alert buzzer go off, listened to the doctors’ delighted discoveries and then tried to block his ears as lovers were reintroduced. Eventually it became clear that Akihiko was just too tired to remain like that anymore, and Misaki let him go reluctantly, wiping his face clear and blushing at his unmanly display of emotions. 

Akihiko lay back down with a little groan and looked up at Misaki wearily. “Will you be all right if I have a nap?”

Misaki nodded furiously. “You have to promise me one thing,” he stuttered, “You have to remember me when you wake up.”

Usagi-san smiled and Misaki felt one little hand interlace with his own. “If you hold my hand, I’ll even dream about you.”

“Idiot,” said Misaki fondly.

* * *

Misaki dropped into a fitful doze as well, body trying to reclaim on what little rest it had received during this whole debacle, and started awake in fear, throat clenching with the terror that what had happened was all just a dream. 

“Misaki?” whispered a hoarse little voice, and he looked down to see Usagi-san’s groggy eyes watching him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s all right,” he mumbled, trying to raise his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow but finding it still firmly trapped in Akihiko’s grasp. “Just a bad dream.”

“Go back to sleep,” croaked Usagi-san, his eyes shuttering closed again; he was asleep again quickly and Misaki stared at him, exhaustion making his head droop and his eyelids ache. It wasn’t all a dream, this was reality and Usagi-san was going to be fine. As he succumbed to the urge to sleep again, he was repeating that like a mantra. 

Everything would be fine…

* * *

Akihiko knew he had told Misaki to go back to work and to school, but when he woke up one morning and found that the young man had, in fact, done so, he was bizarrely upset. 

It helped that someone had brought him a notebook in the intervening time – it was a cheap pulped paper thing, of the sort Tanaka-san had always had hundreds of around the house for subduing the young master at a moment’s notice. He was half way down a page of mindless scribbling when a memory hit him – it was travelling in fragments, like the shrapnel from a train crash. Tanaka-san waving a similar notebook in front of his face, Misaki sitting in his chair and looking helpless, Akihiko himself being so distressed that he was afraid he might cry. It made him feel nauseous to remember such things – Misaki’s anguish in particular made him want to vomit – so he put the notebook under his pillow for safe-keeping and went back to sleeping. 

He was woken when he tried to roll over in his sleep and pulled sharply on his IV line. Grumbling quietly, he sat up to check the damage – the needle was still firmly embedded, luckily – and then glanced about. Over the last few days he’d been feeling too ill and exhausted to care much about his surroundings, but today he felt considerably more clearheaded. 

The bed where Asahina slept was surrounded by curtains still – Akihiko had a vague recollection of the boy asking in a frankly pitiful voice if they could be shot so he could sleep – while Kusama-san was sitting up in his bed, reading a book. He seemed to feel Akihiko’s gaze on him and glanced over, setting his reading material down. Inwardly Akihiko groaned at the thought of having a conversation with Hiroki’s loyal mutt – he always seemed to aggravate the man, and it was never a good idea to annoy someone when you were ten and had limbs like twigs, easy to snap and not likely to do damage in return. Nevertheless, he tried to school his face into something politely friendly and braced himself for the conversation. 

Usami Akihiko’s waking wasn’t something Nowaki had necessarily been looking forward to, but, despite himself, he was still glad when the man did come around again. If Nowaki had had a patient come in looking like the boy did right now, he would have been extremely worried indeed. But Usami-san seemed to be nothing if not resilient, and had improved steadily over the past few days. He was still an alarming shade of yellow and almost constantly shaking with fatigue, but he once again had a grown-up mind, capable of understanding and dealing with his condition. Nowaki reckoned he’d be just fine. 

“It’s good to see you up,” said Nowaki, almost able to convince himself he meant it. “You frightened a lot of people when you were so ill.”

The boy made a sort of shamed noise and said, “I vaguely recall you helping me to get to Hiroki… Did that happen?”

Nowaki understood well – they seemed to have retained the memories of the events of the illness, but it was fuzzy and came in drips and drabs, like they were recalling someone else’s memories. “Yeah, I found you huddled in the street with no shoes on,” he said, “You thought we were kidnapping you.”

Usami-san made a face, like he would rather not recall that at all.

Nowaki decided that he might as well take advantage and annoy the guy a bit, since he had a captive audience as it were. “Have you ever actually been kidnapped? You seemed fairly calm about the whole situation.”

“Mmm, once,” said the boy, easing himself back down onto his pillow. “But they weren’t very good at it.”

“Really?” Nowaki hadn’t been expecting an answer in the positive. “What happened?”

“They did quite well at the start; bundled me in a car boot and drove down to Fukuoka. They were planning to sell me to a yakuza, but they… didn’t do their research.” Usami-san chuckled quietly. “I remember they hauled me out of the car boot and dropped me in front of this massive man, all puffed up and proud they’d managed to kidnap a Usami.”

“And?”

“I told you – they chose the wrong yakuza. They’d just dropped me at the feet of my paternal grandfather, and he was livid to say the least.” Usami-san shrugged. “Once he felt he’d dealt out enough retribution on the behalf of the Usami family, he sent me to stay with my grandmother and aunts for a few days until father could collect me.”

Nowaki blinked, craning his head up slightly so he could see if the boy was struggling to contain a smile or other facial expression that might mean he was lying. There wasn’t nothing except balmy calm, though, so he sank back down and asked, “How come Hiro-san never mentioned that?”

“I never told him.” A glacial blue eye flickered open and fixed Nowaki with a cool stare. “We were twelve, and I wasn’t prepared to worry him that badly. He would have been hysterical.”

The urge to snap at Akihiko and tell him there’s no way Hiro-san would become hysterical was hard to overcome but Nowaki managed it regardless. He would really have to deal with their constant and unpleasant bickering, since they would be stuck in close confines for at least a couple weeks during their recovery. Plus Nowaki felt bad picking on a person who looked like a ten-year old, even if they didn’t act like a ten year old. 

They should bond over something, he decided, but Hiro-san was probably off the list. It was irrational, yes, but he couldn’t stop the jealousy that surged up inside him when he remembered that Usami-san had known Hiro-san for so much longer, that they had grown up together and probably saved each other from lifetimes of having no friends. No, Hiro-san was off limits, as was Takahashi-kun.

Also out of the window were jobs – since Usami-san was a high flying author and Nowaki still toiling away as a medical student -, family – Nowaki having essentially none and Usami clearly not liking his – and that left Nowaki with incredibly few options. He looked down at the book in his hands and perked up immediately – books! Of course! Usami-san had to like those, and Nowaki had lived with a literature professor long enough to be able to discuss them in an appropriately highbrow manner. 

“Have you read this?” he asked, holding the cover up so Usami-san could glance over. 

“Afraid not,” said the boy in a quiet voice. He was tiring quickly again, but Nowaki wasn’t going to let this chance slip away without a fight. He began to explain the premise and the style and why he thought it was all right, but not as good as the author’s last few titles, by which time Usami-san was propped up on his elbows and staring at him through narrowed eyes. Nowaki’s voice slid to an awkward halt and he set the book down again, feeling stupid for ever having tried with this man. “You really haven’t mastered telling Hiroki to shut up, have you?” A thin hand reached out, and Usami continued, “May I see?”

Startled, Nowaki handed the book across and watched in silence as the boy read the blurb and the perused the first couple of pages. “I recall reading one of her titles before, and thinking it was rather good. She’s changed style though.” He flicked to a random page and murmured, “I think your description made this seem more interesting than it actually is. If the doctor career doesn’t work out, you could take up something in literature.” He held the book out, meeting Nowaki’s confused gaze and smiling. It was probably meant to be a smirk, but in the circumstances came out much more gentle. 

“Thank you,” said Nowaki, deciding to treat the book as an olive branch and accept what was undoubtedly Usami’s pitiful attempts at being friendly. At least both of them realised what they had to do. “I’ll let you sleep now.”

“Mmmph.” Usami dropped back to the pillow again with a groan and closed his eyes.

* * *

In his childhood, Usami Akihiko had longed for attention from either of his parents and had ended up resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to get any, only to find he had become intensely popular with at least one of them in his adulthood. 

Akihiko was sort of lolling in his bed and trying to ignore the fact his father had set up shop next to his bed, when who should arrive but Sumi Keiichi. The young man seemed as smiley as usual, if a bit more nervous, and Akihiko scowled at him fiercely for a few moments until his father chided him about his facial expression. Since the man did honestly seem to be trying, and had sacrificed a substantial amount of his blood for his son’s sake, Akihiko decided that being good for once would be an idea. 

Although being nice to Sumi-kun was tricky. Because he was, as Misaki might have put it, creepy. Especially when Akihiko was still too tired to walk any more than the length of the ward and too small to put up a fight. 

And, just at that thought, a memory struck him. This one was fully intact and so hit him like train at full speed, leaving him stunned and smiling in a slightly spaced out manner. Oh! So, that’s what had happened? And the son of a bitch had the gall to return to his victim? Akihiko blinked away the memory of being told to lie back and take it quietly, and glanced over at his father. 

Two could play this game. 

“Sumi-kun,” he said, cheerfully – so cheerfully in fact that his father looked up from his phone and looked at him suspiciously. “How nice of you to turn up.”

“Misaki seemed so upset, I couldn’t not help you.” He displayed his arm, complete with huge bandage over his inner elbow. “I’ve been donating antibodies today.”

“So kind,” purred Akihiko, clasping his hands in his lap. “Have you met my father?”

“Misaki introduced us,” said Sumi, turning a shade paler. Usami Fuyuhiko gave him a short look and then glanced back at his son. 

“Oh good,” said Akihiko, before changing abruptly into French. It was a language that his father only understood if it was spoken slowly, but that suited Akihiko’s purposes just fine. “Parle-tu francais?”

Sumi looked on uncomprehendingly and Akihiko turned to his father and continued, “Pourriez-vous me rendre un service, papa?”

For a second, his father was clearly still suspicious but nodded anyway. 

“Je voudrais vous faire peur de cet homme quand il quitte, s'il vous plaît.”

“Pourquoi?” But the man was already standing and stretching lazily. 

“Pendant que j'étais malade, il a essayé de profiter de moi.” He glanced away and added in a dark undertone, “Et alors que j'étais un adulte aussi.”

“Je vais faire de mon mieux, mon fils,” rumbled his father, stepping past Sumi and giving him a careful look. 

“Sorry,” said Akihiko switching back to Japanese and turning his attention back onto Sumi. “We talk in French most of the time.”

Sumi laughed nervously and asked, “So how much of what happened do you remember?”

Akihiko narrowed his eyes and purred, “Bits and pieces,” just so he could see Sumi’s eyes widen in shock for a moment. “It’s coming back slowly.”

“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t want to be missing so many days of your life.”

He smiled as sweetly as he knew how and said, “Yes, it would be terrible. Someone could have tried to take advantage of me, and I’d never know.”

“That would be awful,” said Sumi, and Akihiko was almost impressed with how the young man managed to control his facial expression. “I’d better be going soon, though. I’ve taken the morning off to give blood, but I should go in for the afternoon.”

“Thanks so much for coming,” said Akihiko, widening his smile and cocking his head slightly. Playing up the cute angle hadn’t been easy the first time around, but this time he was going to make the most of it. 

Sumi muttered something polite and nearly took off running. Akihiko relaxed back onto his pillows and smirked to himself until he heard his father return and ease back down into the chair. 

“Impressive. I barely had to say a word to him before he was cowering.” 

Akihiko gave him a contented little look and closed his eyes again. “I learnt from the master.”

* * *

It was a long week of being injected with various liquids that Akihiko was fairly sure had belonged to someone else only hours beforehand and by the end of it he was starting to feel a bit like a pincushion. Happily, the jaundice had already begun to fade – he still looked astonishingly yellow, but it was an improvement in context. 

Aside from that, he was still ten-years old, still stuck in a hospital bed and too tired to move. He could write for an hour and a half before his whole arm would seize painfully and the fatigue would burn up into his brain and send him curling into naptime once more. 

Worst of all things was that Misaki wasn’t there all the time. He spared as much time as he could – more time that he was probably best sparing in fact – but he had school and coursework and actual work. Akihiko didn’t like when his lover was rushed off his feet normally, but he liked it even less now. When he had said that Misaki might want to get back into the swing of normal life he hadn’t meant for him to dive in at the deep-end; he’d just wanted Misaki to attend a few classes and get some notes down, so he didn’t fail anything. 

All he intended to suggest was that Misaki was overtaxing himself, and trying to avoid dealing with the situation by burying his head in work, and that maybe spending less time at Marukawa or something similar would be a good idea. What he hadn’t intended to do, when Misaki had stopped by in the evening, was accidentally suggest his lover drop everything and pay attention to only him. Neither did he intend to suggest that Misaki was mentally strong enough to deal with all of these things at once, but that was certainly the way that Misaki took his statements. Finally, eyes screwed up in anger and bitter words still dripping on his tongue, the young man had kicked his chair back and stormed away from the bedside. 

Akihiko scowled at his lap for a moment and then decided enough was enough. He’d eaten most of the slop provided for his dinner tonight – Tanaka-san had sadly returned to the Usami mansion again and was unavailable for cooking duties – and he was feeling as strong as he had done since he’d woken. Misaki wasn’t going to run away from what had happened because Akihiko sure as hell couldn’t. 

The floor was cold on his feet, threatening to send one of his calves into cramp as he stood and paused to find his balance. He brushed himself down, made sure all of the buttons on his pyjamas were firmly fastened for want of doing anything else to make himself more presentable, and struck out. Nowaki and Hiroki were occupied with bickering with each other behind the curtains, and Asahina was asleep, waiting for Isaka-san to return later on in the night. No one noticed Akihiko creep out of the ward and pad down the corridors. 

“I wish I had socks,” he said miserably, pausing at a corner and lifting each foot in turn to spare them from the chill. The problem was that: one, he had no idea where Misaki had run off to, and two, even if he had known there wasn’t much hope of him finding it, since he essentially knew his way to the toilet and that was it. So he chose a path deeper into the clinic and soon found himself in a little garden area. 

If it had been fully daytime and if Akihiko had not been suddenly feeling the effects of staggering around after a fortnight of lying in bed, it would have been quite a pretty little garden. As it was, Akihiko hated it, from the brick path to the rose bushes and the little bench beyond. 

On which Misaki was sitting… Heh.

Akihiko took a moment to recapture his breath - his journey had drained most of his depleted resources – and to form his argument in his mind before he rounded the rose bushes and stomped to a halt into front of his lover. 

“Look,” he said firmly, folding his arms firmly and ignoring Misaki’s shocked expression, “I don’t understand how bad you felt because I didn’t experience it, but I can imagine. But you can’t hide from what happened, Misaki, or what might have happened. Ducking your head beneath a parapet of other things might protect you now, but eventually it will all crumble down on you anyway. I want you to accept what has happened and let me help you deal with it, Misaki, please.”

Misaki shook his head, “I… I can’t…”

“You’re going to have to,” said Akihiko, sitting down on the bench with a huff of breath and sighing in relief as his feet left the chilly bricks. “And whether it take a few minutes or a few days, I’ll be waiting for you to do so.” He swung his feet lazily for a moment, stretching his toes out to try and coax some blood back into them. While he was doing this, a soft noise came to his attention and he glanced over to find Misaki bent over, clutching fruitlessly at his own mouth to hold the sobs in. 

Immediately, and ignoring the warning shivers in his muscles, Akihiko was standing in front of his lover and hugging him close. Misaki buried his face in Akihiko’s stomach and wept helplessly, in great gulping sobs, pausing only to drag in keening breaths. So Akihiko stood there, petting Misaki’s hair and murmuring soothing nothings for a long, long while, until Misaki stopped crying and he was able to shuffle back and ease down onto his knees. His eyes met red-rimmed green irises and Misaki gave a distressed little hiccup, wiping his face on the back of his hand and doing nothing more than spreading the tears and snot around more. It was a disgusting face, to be honest, and Akihiko couldn’t have loved him more, even if he had tried. 

“I could have died,” said Akihiko quietly, “But I didn’t. Everything got a bit fucked up, but it turned out all right in the end. All I want is for you to accept those things happened and then move on. I don’t want you to ignore what happened and blunder about regardless. Do you understand?”

Misaki nodded and wiped his face again, grimacing as it still did no good. “Y-yeah…” he sniffed, “I think so…” He coughed and mumbled, “Your pyjamas are soaked now… And you aren’t wearing any shoes, Usagi-san..! You’ll catch your death of cold out here!” He stood up and grabbed Akihiko’s hand, refusing to meet his gaze. But Akihiko scurried along behind him as he towed the ten year old back to his ward and knew it would be all right; this was his Misaki, the scrappy, bossy, caring man with a soft heart and a guilt complex the size of Tokyo. 

Everything would be fine…

* * *

After their little talk, Misaki wrangled another few weeks off work, apologising profusely about flitting in and out so much. Thankfully Aikawa-san had intervened on his behalf and explained that there were indeed extenuating circumstances, and that Misaki couldn’t be blamed. 

“Just make sure that author of yours is fit to be writing again as soon as possible!” she had said when they had parted. “He’s left me without a new manuscript for too long!”

“I’ll tell him today!” Misaki had darted off, waving goodbye, dodged Isaka-san in the corridor – he was looking much cheerier but still strange without Asahina-san constantly shadowing him – and made a bee-line back to the clinic. 

In the chronic ward, he walked right in on the tail-end of an argument. Akihiko was wearing a petulant expression that didn’t really suit his normally blank face, and appeared to be sulking, while Dr. Fujioka was clearly trying not to lecture him but failing miserably. She had the look of a woman who had been trying to deal with a Usami like they were a normal person. Kamijou-san was standing by the door, watching with an amused smile on his face. 

He barely looked around when Misaki trotted up and corrected his amused expression to a more severe one quickly. “If you don’t get in there quickly, I think the doctor might just end up doing something which might cost her license to practise.” 

Misaki made a face, “What are they arguing about?”

“Bakahiko won’t eat his food.” He shrugged. “Nowaki said his was fine, but I tried it myself so I think I might be on your asshole boyfriend’s side this time.”

Blushing at his professor’s reference to his ‘boyfriend’ and stolidly ignoring the bit, however truthful it might be, about Akihiko being an asshole, Misaki inched into the ward beyond and excused himself for interrupting the conversation. Both participants looked incredibly relieved at his arrival. 

“She expects me to eat that, Misaki,” whined Akihiko, nodding to a bowl sitting beside the bed. And it did not look too bad, but when Misaki approached it further the smell crept into his nostrils and threatened the integrity of his stomach. “See, isn’t it dreadful?”

“You should be grateful you have food,” said Misaki, picking the bowl up and scowling as he realised he’d probably have to do something to get his lover fed. “Look, what if I spoon feed it to you? Maybe you’re just tired…”

“I’m not an over tired three year old in need of a nap!” snapped Akihiko, “I just don’t want to eat that which looks as though someone has already chewed!”

Dr Fujioka sighed. “You need to eat something, Usami-san… You fainted this afternoon because your body is depleting the stores it needs to grow again. We need to fix that quickly, and the best way to do that is for you to keep eating.”

“You fainted?” said Misaki, his scowl deepening. Akihiko took one look at his face and almost blanched, finding the courage at the last moment to frown in return and pout. “Idiot! Eat your damn food!”

“It’s vile,” snapped Usagi-san in return, “I’m not touching it.”

Misaki briefly considered pouring the contents of the bowl over the boy’s head, before an idea struck him and the urge to be helpful surged up. “Look, if I cooked you something, would you eat that?”

Akihiko gave him a Look. “Of course,” he said, as if Misaki were stupid. 

“Fine.” He set the bowl back on the tray and fished out his bento box from his bag. What with running up to the Marukawa offices, booking more leave off and talking to Aikawa, he had never got around to eating his lunch. It was maybe a bit dried out now, but Usagi-san’s face still lit up at the thought of getting good food so Misaki passed it over and smirked to himself as the ten-year old tucked in. 

“You’re a saint,” said Dr. Fujioka, looking like she meant it. 

Misaki shrugged bashfully and muttered something about knowing what Usagi-san liked. He had to ignore an entendre laden snort from Kamijou-sensei before he spoke, “I’ll just bring him in meals, if it would make it easier?”

“You are a saint,” repeated the doctor, “I’ll print off a list of foods that will be beneficial.” She nearly ran out, heels clicking loudly on the floor. 

Misaki turned his attention back to Usagi-san, who was nibbling thoughtfully on the edge of a carrot. “Stop tormenting the doctors. They’re trying to help you.”

“I’ll be good…” muttered Usagi-san reluctantly around his mouthful of vegetable. 

“Ha! That’ll be the day.”

* * *

With Misaki’s food supplied to him, Usami-san started to improve even more drastically. The jaundice faded further, he grew more energetic and, miraculously, it seemed as if his body was starting to fight back against the Russian Syndrome of its own accord. Similar effects were being seen across all three patients, as their antibody levels remained higher for longer, until one day, Dr Hideki sampled Nowaki’s blood and came bursting into the room a couple hours later with the news that the young man was indeed starting to acquire his own immune response to the virus. 

“It’s a miracle!” the doctor had laughed, picking up Dr Fujioka and twirling her about in the air. “Brilliant!”

“When can we stop the antibody injections?” asked Nowaki, rubbing the still bruised spots over his forearms where the needles had sunk in. 

“I think maybe a week from now,” said Dr. Hideki, not setting Dr. Fujioka down. She was wriggling ferociously in his grip, trying to squeeze out of his encircling arms and failing. “Once we’re certain you’re recovering, then we’ll think about letting you home as well.” He glanced over at Asahina-san and Usami-san, who were both watching absently. “You two will have to wait until you’ve regained a few years as well, but if your bloods go the same way Kusama’s do, hopefully that will be sooner rather than later.”

The first person to regain a year was Usami-san, while he was napping quietly in the afternoon. Nowaki had borrowed one of Dr. Hideki’s textbooks to do some revision and keep his memory fresh, and was focusing on a table of lower respiratory symptoms when the boy next to him woke up with a yelp of discomfort and then a long, strained groan. He dropped his textbook and hopped out of bed to wrench the curtain out of the way, finding only Usami-san sitting up in bed and looking slightly pained. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, not sure whether he should just let the boy be or call the doctors in. 

“Remember growing pains?” gasped Akihiko, his eyes wide and shocked, “This is like a whole body growing pain…”

Nowaki had bolted for the doctor’s office right then, and had summoned Dr. Fujioka to examine her patient. After fifteen minutes’ worth of poking and prodding, the woman had stepped back, clasped her hands in front of her chest and said simply, “Usami-san, it looks like you’re growing up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeeee! I'm just so pleased to have them healthy again!
> 
> As far as the French goes: Akihiko asks "Do you speak French?" then asks his father, "Will you do me a favour, father? Would you scare this guy when he leaves, please?" Usagi-chichi asks, "Why?" and Akihiko responds "While I was sick, he tried to take advantage of me. And when I was an adult too." "I will do my best, son," replies Fuyuhiko before he goes off to lurk in the corridor.


	19. Chapter 19

As the least affected person, Nowaki regained his years the quickest and was soon on the edge of being able to go home. Admittedly he was still clearly a teenager, but the doctors had decided there was no point in keeping him cooped up any longer. 

“You’re not sick,” said Dr Hideki, “And you’re producing the antibodies yourself now. You’ve shown massive improvement since we brought you in, so there’s really no point in you staying.” He signed his name with a flourish on a sheet and handed it over to Nowaki. “So, if you’d sign that, you can bugger off for now.”

Nowaki looked down at the discharge sheet and frowned. For two weeks he had been straining at the leash to get out of this place, desperate to leave and go home and snuggle with his Hiro-san. But now the opportunity was in front of him, he wasn’t so sure anymore. What if he relapsed? He’d seen people do that – they had just gotten well enough to go home, and then everything crumbled again, often terminally. Was he actually safe, was his worry. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he had dodged a serious bullet here. In the bed beside him was Usami-san, still grumpy and adult-minded but trapped in a now-thirteen year old body and not pleased about it at all. He had been drawn to the edge by the syndrome, threatened with death as a ten year old and now faced a long recovery. And Nowaki did not want to suffer the same fate. 

In front of him, Dr Hideki checked his watch and scowled. “Sorry, I better go check on the acute patients. I’ll come back in an hour to get that, all right? You can go home this evening with Kamijou-kun.” With that he trotted off, taking his pen with him. 

No matter how much Nowaki wasn’t sure about signing the paper and being sent home, he still wanted to do it. There was no amount of fear would stop him from wanting to cuddle with Hiro-san. As he was about to fumble for a pen from his bedside drawer, one mysteriously bounced off his head and landed on his lap. 

“Sign it,” said Usami-san, flicking back through the pages in his notebook, every inch of grey, cheap paper covered in tight black squiggles. He had been writing for hours, silent and focused in a way Nowaki had only seen in Hiro-san when he was reading a new book. 

“Of course I was going to,” said Nowaki, plucking up the pen and setting the nib to the line. He couldn’t bring himself to sign his name though and he set the paper down with an exhausted sigh. If only there had been someone else around to talk to – there were no doctors, no nurses, no lovers or family members. Even Asahina-san, the guy in the bed the other side of Usami-san, wasn’t available for talking to – he had a pair of earphones in and was scribbling ferociously on a set of spread sheets. The only option left was Usami-san. 

But before he even had a chance to explain his problem and desperately hope he wouldn’t get a simple, uncaring answer, Usami-san had apparently become psychic and was speaking. “If you don’t sign that paper, Hiroki is going to kill you , you know.”

“I-“ Nowaki glanced down and sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”

“He’s be whining about you being here for the past week,” continued Usami-san, noticing Nowaki’s glare quickly and adding, “He bitches at me when you’re not in the room.”

“Why do you always do that?” Nowaki snapped, suddenly. 

Much like someone who had been bitten by a previously friendly dog, Usami-san looked more startled than upset. “What do you mean?”

“You keep insulting Hiro-san! You know he’s not like that!” 

Usami blinked and glanced about, like he was trying to find someone who could help him to figure out what was happening. “I know… That’s the point surely.” He sighed, a very worldly noise coming from a young man and said, “How many nice things has Hiroki ever said about me?”

“I’m sure-“ Nowaki paused and made a face. “Not very many. But that’s because…” He trailed off, suddenly very aware of Akihiko’s icy blue eyes fixed on his face. 

“We are friends. We do like each other – in a purely platonic manner, I must add – but neither of us are soppy by nature. Affection is easier to confer via insult, when you have personalities like Hiroki and myself do.”

“I don’t understand,” muttered Nowaki. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Akihiko eased himself out of bed, wincing as he stepped on the cool floor. “Mostly since I reckon you’re just taking this as an opportunity to delay signing your release form.” He grinned cheekily, and Nowaki was overcome with the urge to smother him with his own pillow. “Am I right?”

Nowaki scowled and refused to answer; Usami-san chuckled to himself and tiptoed off, the soles of his feet filthy from padding back and forth across the hospital barefoot. There was still a gruesome, crusted wound where his foot had been slit open, drawing his toes down where the scab was tightening his skin. He was limping slightly, and that combined with his general appearance – tiny, yellowed and still not looking as healthy as he could have – made him look very childish indeed. For a moment Nowaki was ashamed that someone who looked that young had managed to lecture him, had spotted his ulterior motives. 

He signed the paper. At the very least, getting away from Usami-san was worth the risk to his own health.

* * *

As much as Akihiko was pleased to see Nowaki go – as civil as they had been to each other, it had been constant chilly politeness that had worn considerably on Akihiko’s nerves – he was also quite disappointed. Not that he would ever want anyone to have to remain in hospital for longer than necessary – except perhaps his mother – but the fact that Kusama was escaping this small portion of hell and Akihiko had to remain kind of stuck in his throat a bit. 

Akihiko hated hospitals. Not just the normal, everyday dislike of the association of illness and death, but a true miserable, bone-trembling dread. He knew, like many things that were wrong with him, it stemmed from his mother and her determination to ruin every part of his life. Being ill was laziness, nothing more. Being ill enough to put him into hospital was laziness on a malevolent scale and was treated like a mutiny on board a naval vessel, only with more corporal punishment and considerably less kindness. And, as sure as Akihiko was that being in hospital right now was a good thing, those lessons had been hard-learnt indeed. 

It didn’t help that whenever he caught his reflection in something shiny he looked the right age for his mother to be looming up angrily, purring silken words at the nurses and shooting Akihiko fiery glares behind their backs. He kept catching glances of blonde curls in the background and then having to spend minutes coaxing his heart out of its palpitations. 

As Hiroki was packing Nowaki’s small bag of clothes up, another one of those nasty moments struck Akihiko, leaving him sitting bolt upright and gritting his teeth against the sickening fear. For a moment Hiroki paused in his packing and watched Akihiko until he began to relax again. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, then, Bakahiko?” He shoved a pair of a slippers into the bag and straightened up so he could cross his arms at him. Akihiko had never met a person who could physically cross their arms at someone, but Hiroki had managed it. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, settling back to his pillow with a mistrustful glance at the polished bed railing that had given him the momentary vision of his mother. “I’m just going mad.”

“You’re sure you haven’t already headed that way a long time ago?” sniped Hiroki, with a cheerful growl to his voice. 

Akihiko considered this obediently for a second and then rolled onto his belly, so as to burrow into his pillows. 

“Eventually you’ll accept your madness and move on,” said Hiroki happily. Akihiko grumbled unintelligibly in response and they fell into the comfortable silence that they had maintained throughout their relationship. But then Hiroki spoke again, “But what is the matter?”

“I hate hospitals,” the blond murmured, face still buried in the pillow. “I hate being this age.”

“Huh.” Hiroki sighed and then smacked a spare pillow down on top of Akihiko’s head. “Stop moping! You’re fucking getting better!”

“Bastard,” sighed Akihiko, but he sat up anyway. “I keep thinking my mother’s here. That’s all.” It amused him slightly, and made him feel considerably better, that Hiroki looked around with a wide-eyed expression at this admission. “She’s not, of course. Not that she’d ever think of touching you.”

“I’ve heard her screaming,” said Hiroki, picking up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder haphazardly. “Even from a distance, that bitch scared me.”

With a dry chuckle, Akihiko hopped out of bed and slid his feet into his slippers so he could accompany Hiroki to the front door. “You know the best thing? She was terrified of your mother.”

“Really?!” Hiroki cackled with delight. “Fantastic!”

“I don’t know what your mother did, but anytime I mentioned your surname, she’d hurtle off to harass someone else.”

“Fantastic,” repeated Hiroki, “That’s going to keep me warm and fluffy inside for days.” 

They turned a corner and came across Nowaki and the doctors, where the young man was receiving a firm hug from Dr Fujioka. Dr Hideki was watching, a slight scowl on his face which made Akihiko want to cackle like a teenager. Nowaki freed himself with only a small amount of trouble and practically skipped over to take his bag from Hiroki. 

“Ready?” Hiroki grumbled, immediately becoming gruffer and surlier but still handing the bag over without complaint. It was an education to watch Hiroki’s behaviour with another person, especially when Akihiko could reapply it to their own interactions and further kick himself for never noticing the man had held a torch for him. At least now the great, puppyish Kusama was there for Hiroki to be gruff at. 

“Yes, Hiro-san,” said Kusama cheerfully, bowing politely to Dr Hideki and Dr Fujioka one last time. He even gave Akihiko a one-armed, slightly distant hug, which made the blond boy wonder if he really was going crazy, and nearly dragged Hiroki out of the door in his exuberance to be going. It was good to see that the man had lost his fear of leaving his perceived safe place in the clinic, but Akihiko still hated him quite a lot as the pair of them headed out onto the street and vanished from view. 

For a moment he loitered at the door, suddenly not feeling up to the trek back to the ward and to the resignation that he was going to be here for a while yet. He hadn’t realised Dr Fujioka had remained behind with him, and her gentle hand on his shoulder nearly caused him to spring several feet in the air. 

“You’ll be able to leave soon enough,” said the young woman, handily not noticing the fact that Akihiko was doing his best rabbit in the headlights impression. “You’re almost entirely over the jaundice by now, and you’re nearly fifteen. I bet you’ll be home by the end of next week.” She gave the blond’s thin shoulder a comforting squeeze and paced off, leaving Akihiko to mope about just how pathetic he really was.

* * *

The flat was a mess, books spread over every flat surface and built up in ramps over the curved ones. Nowaki stood on the edge of the mess and trying not to look too disheartened. 

“It looks worse than it really is,” said Hiro-san, setting his bag down and dropping his coat onto the peg, neatly hiding his blush of embarrassment. At this Nowaki felt his heart throb with affection, leaning in to press a light kiss to the older man’s cheek and then venturing carefully into the mess. Behind him, Hiro-san was spitting something about not being a pervert while he was still so small – which was hilarious when they were actually more or less the same height for once – but Nowaki ignored it neatly and began arranging a path through the books. 

“Don’t do that!” snapped Hiroki, nipping under his arm to steal a book away and set it on what looked like a completely arbitrary pile. He looked about his strewn collection and his shoulders drooped slightly. “I’ll do this. You should rest.”

“I’ve rested for two weeks,” said Nowaki, “If anything I should be up and about, getting exercise.”

“It would be bad for you to strain yourself on the first day out of the hospital!” Hiro-san crossed his arms and gave Nowaki a very serious, and very cute, stern expression. 

“Maybe I should ease into something then,” suggested Nowaki mildly, sliding just a bit closer to his lover and grinning to himself when the man didn’t notice the suggestion. It had been too long, and Nowaki was feeling very much better indeed. In fact, he was almost bubbling over with teenaged energy, and there was always one excellent method for ridding himself of that. “I’m sure if I warm up nicely first, it’ll be fine…”

Hiroki didn’t notice until Nowaki was purring the words across the back of his neck; soft lips pressing lightly to the skin, the cooler sharpness of teeth nibbling down his spine. Nowaki could feel the goosebumps rising on his lover’s skin, heard the man’s breath quicken slightly, and he took the chance to put his hands lightly on Hiro-san’s svelte hips. The man did nothing more than clear his throat anxiously, and Nowaki took that as permission, pressing another kiss to the back of Hiroki’s neck and sliding his hands around to the front of the man’s trousers where his interest was delightfully evident. 

“We shouldn’t…” murmured Hiroki suddenly, without any of his characteristic fire. Immediately Nowaki backed off, still keeping contact with his lover’s body for fear of losing that lovely contentedness that overcame him whenever he and Hiro-san touched. 

“Hiro-san… If you don’t want to…”

“I do though!” Hiroki blushed crimson and then growled. “I mean, I don’t mind if you want to... But you’re still fifteen… I don’t know…”

Nowaki smiled, “I know it’s weird, Hiro-san, but you know it’s still me. We did this before remember?” He slid his hands onto his lover’s broad shoulders, kneading the tight muscles for a moment until the knots began to ease away. “We enjoyed it then, right?”

Hiroki gave an acknowledging murmur, leaning his weight back a bit more onto Nowaki’s body. He still looked a bit conflicted, but Nowaki purred his recollections of their last coupling into his ear until the man was obviously caught up. 

“Nowaki,” said Hiroki, licking his lips with a pink tongue, “It’s been really cold here without you, you know.”

* * *

They took it to the bedroom, which was also covered in books, but not to the same extent. Hiroki pried Nowaki’s mouth off the angle of his neck and shoulder and carefully tipped the bed covers onto the floor, trying to avoid dropping his precious books even as his hips pressed backwards into Nowaki’s. 

Already Nowaki’s eager fingers were pulling the hem of his lover’s shirt over his head, tangling wild chocolate coloured locks into fluffy peaks that called to have fingers scratched through them. Nowaki was nothing if not obedient, and Hiro-san shuddered at the sensation, struggling to shake off the touch and bend down to haul off his trousers and briefs. Nowaki followed the curve of the man’s back down and showered the spinous processes with kisses, fingers fanning over the waves of ribs. 

At the first soft touch of Nowaki’s palm to the smooth skin of the other man’s cock, Hiro-san tried to straighten up, throwing his head back against Nowaki’s shoulder and moaning. The noise was so delicious that Nowaki lost control for a second, spinning the man around, kissing him hard and then shoving him down onto the bed. He knelt up on the bed, bracing his arms either side of Hiroki’s head. 

“Have you been taking care of that while I’ve been gone?” Nowaki purred. 

“Idiot!” snapped Hiroki, his face twisting into a look of horror that cut into Nowaki’s soul like the sharpest knife. “You think I was doing stuff like that while you were in the hospital?!”

“No, Hiro-san, I’m sorry…”

“Idiot!” Hiroki landed a vicious smack to Nowaki’s shoulder; he hadn’t realised how much that hurt when he had a thicker pad of muscle to cushion the blow. “I was panicking about you and all you can think of is getting fucking laid?!”

“Hiro-san! I’m sorry!” He gripped his lover’s arms to prevent him from turning away, and put on his best repentant face. “I really am; I didn’t mean it like that and I didn’t think.”

“I can tell!” spat Hiroki, but he was already relaxing. 

“Sorry, Hiro-san,” he purred, nosing under the man’s ear and sucking gently on a previous kiss mark. “Will you forgive me?”

“Hmm.” Hiro-san shivered and then gasped when Nowaki nibbled on his earlobe. “Maybe…”

“What can I do to make it better?” His hand slid down again and Hiroki’s back stiffened immediately. “Do you think kissing this would help?”

Hiro-san gaped at him, stunned for a second, and Nowaki pressed home his advantage, nibbling his lover’s lower lip, pressing their mouths together and setting to exploring Hiroki’s mouth again. Happily his lover still tasted the same; spicy cinnamon with a metallic background of ink. He must have chewed another pen to death recently, but Nowaki didn’t mind. Somehow it suited the man to be inkstained. 

He was in the process of seeing if any of the man’s other body parts might taste similar, when Hiro-san suddenly stiffened and flipped them over, so Nowaki was lying on his back and the older man was kneeling over him. There was a distinctly predatory expression on Hiro-san’s face, and a shiver shot down Nowaki’s spine, though whether it was out of fear or lust he couldn’t tell. 

“You are not straining yourself on the first fucking night back from the hospital,” the man growled, that easy blush rising to his cheeks in a perfect pattern. “You just lie there and I’ll do the work.”

“Hiro-san…!” Nowaki had tried to sigh, about to reassure the man he would be perfectly fine to do what they intended to , but then the professor’s elegant hand had cupped his erection through his jeans – borrowed from Hiro-san, because he would be tripping over the hems of his own pairs – and all rational thought had burrowed amongst the books on the floor, never to be found. The predatory expression remained, as the older man calmly undid the buttons on the flies, only to deepen when Hiro-san’s hand slipped under the rim of Nowaki’s briefs to grasp his cock fully. 

Nowaki had been so long without any touch that this threatened to set him off, just like the teenager he resembled. It took him a few moments of concentrating on his breathing until he could safely say he wasn’t going to come within the next few seconds, and then Hiro-san started to stroke him. A talented thumb brushed over the slit, spread pre-come down his length to slick the friction away and Nowaki’s head dropped back against his pillow helplessly. Normally he would have watched this deliciousness happen, but right now all his nerves were extra sensitive with his youth, and even the thought of seeing Hiro-san concentrating on the hand job made his balls throb. 

He obediently lifted his hips slightly as Hiro-san pulled his boxers and jeans down further and then choked on a curse word as his lover’s hot, wet mouth closed around his dick without warning. His hips jerked up helplessly, the head of his cock bumping the back of Hiro-san’s mouth and making him gag slightly. Nowaki subsided, feeling like a bit of a bastard until he glanced up and met his lover’s gaze; those rich brown eyes were lit up with amusement and lust as those pinkened lips slid down over his length again, long fingers fondling his balls with firm, yet teasing touches. 

Hiroki’s mouth left Nowaki’s cock with a wet pop, and the man smiled up at his de-aged lover mischievously. “Since you’re feeling so teenaged, I suppose I should attempt to do something for your staying power…” Before Nowaki could even think of opening his mouth to reply, Hiroki had lowered his mouth again and was bobbing his head quickly, his soft tongue lathing the underside of Nowaki’s cock. Nowaki couldn’t even gasp a warning before his balls tightened and his orgasm struck him at full speed, leaving him gasping for air and blinking white sparks out of his vision. Distantly he heard Hiroki swallow repeatedly, felt that tongue graze over the achingly sensitive head again and opened his mouth to beg for mercy but ended up moaning helplessly instead. Hiro-san’s mouth lathed him clean thoroughly and then the older man sat up, kneeling over Nowaki’s hips and bracing his arms either side of the young man’s head. 

“Let’s test your recuperative ability, shall we?” the professor growled huskily, bowing his head further down to capture Nowaki’s lips in a soft, coaxing kiss. Still stunned from his earlier orgasm, it took Nowaki a few moments to respond, but respond he did, slicking his tongue into Hiro-san’s devious mouth and getting a quick taste of his own emissions. Already the sated throb in his lower belly and thighs was being replaced with that steady, slow boil again, and when Hiroki’s fingers drifted lower again the stoking started anew. 

Nimble fingers undid the buttons of Nowaki’s shirt – his own, and far too big for him because of it -, followed by caressing lips, as Hiro-san left his lover’s mouth and kissed down his jawline, nipped along the throbbing pulses in his neck. Sharp teeth slid over a collarbone, leaving thin white lines that were momentarily soothed by that wonderful tongue, before they fastened lightly onto a nipple and Nowaki made a tremendously undignified noise. He had always enjoyed the sounds Hiro-san had made whenever Nowaki himself could pause and have a few minutes’ fun with the older man’s nipples, but had never really got much out of his own in return. Today though! Being younger in body had evidently made him more sensitive in more than one area, and now he was even more at Hiro-san’s mercy, whimpering as teeth, tongue, lips and fingers tormented both sides of his chest. His cock was standing full to attention now, grazing the silky smooth skin of Hiro-san’s perfect ass, and he thrust up to get the full benefit of the friction, jolting his lover’s mouth from his task. 

“Not bad,” said Hiro-san, grinning widely. He licked his fingers, drifting his tongue lazily around the tips and making Nowaki’s cock throb a little more, and slid his hands down his flanks. “Up to strength again in no time at all.” His mouth fell open slightly as he slipped a finger inside himself and Nowaki mustered all his brains to snag a bottle of lube off the bedside table and hand it over. Hiroki slicked up his fingers and set to readying himself, while Nowaki took the chance to do some groping and nibbling of his own. Hiro-san’s peachy pink nipples were an excellent target indeed, and Nowaki set to showing the man just how you were meant to play with them, mouth and fingers swapping sides so the whole expanse of Hiroki’s chest would get the benefit. 

By the time Hiro-san pushed Nowaki back down to the bed, both of them were shaking, skins slick with sweat; Hiro-san’s cock was dripping pre-come onto Nowaki’s stomach, while Nowaki’s own cock was aching to be inside his lover once more. 

It was definitely worth waiting over a fortnight for – when Hiro-san knelt up and slid down on his lover’s cock, Nowaki thought he might come there and then. Only an almost uncomfortably tight grip on his balls, courtesy of Hiro-san of course, stopped him from falling over the edge again, and they had to pause for a long time for both of them to get their bodies under control. Hiro-san was tighter than usual, his body warmer and even more delightful than Nowaki recalled. Talented muscles squeezed and relaxed about him, then Hiro-san rocked back, his hands falling onto Nowaki’s thighs and began to move. 

“You look beautiful, Hiro-san,” gasped Nowaki, his hands cupping his lover’s ass to help him move up and down more smoothly. It was true though, the view was spectacular – Hiro-san’s curvy cheeks swallowing his cock slickly, the older man’s cock erect and leaking against his tense abdomen, the pale expanse of his lightly muscled torso, like a marble statue come to life. “God, you’re beautiful..!”

“Nhh!” Hiroki’s fingers tightened on Nowaki’s thighs, chewed nails digging into the hard muscle. “Fuck! Nowaki!” His head tipped back with delight, and Nowaki surged up, rearranging them by sheer force so that Hiro-san was on his back, legs dangling about . “Fuck!” Hiroki gave him a startled look, his mouth falling open when Nowaki grinned down at him. 

“Let’s do this my way now, Hiro-san,” he purred, leaning down to kiss the man deeply. His hips snapped forward in a careful rhythm, while he caught each of Hiro-san’s gasps and curses of delight in his mouth. The building boil in his stomach was coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to overwhelm him any second, but Hiro-san was his priority now. His hands ran over every inch of the man’s skin that he could reach, combing through his thick hair, scratching down his flanks and curving down the groove of his hipbones. His hand grasped Hiro-san’s cock, and began to pump in time with his thrusts, driving even more gasps out of his lover’s delectable mouth. 

“Fu-ck!” Hiro-san moaned finally, that catch of breath alerting Nowaki to his impending orgasm. He began to drive in harder and faster, angling his thrusts so Hiroki’s breath caught in that delicious way every time. The older man cried out as he came, back arching to bring his chest up against Nowaki’s and internal muscles clenching tight. Nowaki’s hips stuttered to a halt as his own orgasm struck suddenly, those brain melting white sparks striking down his spine and stopping all higher motor functions in their tracks. 

Slowly, his senses returned to him, and Nowaki found himself draped over Hiro-san’s body, face tucked into the curve of the man’s throat, his lips resting against the throbbing pulse point. The elegant, long limbs thrown over Nowaki’s waist were still shaking weakly and the older man’s breath was coming in heavy gasps. 

“Fuck,” said Hiro-san finally, giving Nowaki a gentle kick to the thigh to encourage him to move. They separated carefully; Nowaki flopped onto the sheets to the side, already descending into the stupor of the satisfied, while Hiroki sat up stiffly. Casting a sleepy blue eye over his lover, Nowaki slung a pleasure-heavy arm over Hiroki’s waist, ignoring the slight dampness from sweat and come, and snuggled his face into the man’s hip. 

“What’s wrong, Hiro-san?” he murmured, his eyes threatening to drift closed even as he spoke. 

For a moment Hiroki remained sitting bolt upright, eyes distant and mouth still creased into a frown. But his gaze softened then, eyelids starting to droop much like Nowaki’s, his mouth dropping open in a yawn and all the tension seeping out of him. He looked down at Nowaki, his expression as gentle as his younger lover had ever seen it and said, “I was just thinking how much better it is when you’re here.” A soft blush swam to the surface of his cheeks and he flopped down, barging his body against Nowaki’s. “You better move over! I’m not sleeping in the wet spot!”

“Yes, Hiro-san,” smiled Nowaki, happily shifting across so Hiro-san could lie down against his flank. “I’m glad to be home too.”

“Mmmph. Shut up and sleep!” Hiroki squirmed around so his face was buried in Nowaki’s shoulder. 

“Yes, Hiro-san,” repeated Nowaki, contentment finally closing his eyes fully. It was good to be home indeed.


	20. Chapter 20

Akihiko slept uncomfortably that night, acutely aware that the bed to his right was empty. Finally, he could take no more of the silent space, reminding him painfully of the fact someone had escaped and he was stuck here. Misaki was at home, sleeping comfortably in their bed – he had been half-dead with exhaustion, and Akihiko was not about to call him up and spill any of the nasty feelings swirling in his stomach. Worrying Misaki with that nonsense right now seemed like kicking a man when he was down. 

On silent feet, Akihiko crept out of the ward and out to the garden in the centre of the building. If he was out here, he wasn’t in hospital and therefore he was safe. 

He was so safe in fact that, before long, his eyelids began to droop and his head suddenly became intolerably heavy. Even as he grew stronger every day, his body still demanded rest in amounts he wasn’t used to giving it and the sudden urge to sleep had caught him unawares. Perhaps a nap would help, he thought, lying down on the bench and staring up at the sky; the stars were all but bleached out with the city lights, but there were still a few sparkly dots that the orange glow hadn’t erased. Yes, a nap would help and then he’d go back to bed immediately. It would be too cold for him to sleep out here for very long anyway.

* * *

“Be that as it may, Haruhiko, he is your brother and he is ill. Doesn’t he deserve some care?”

It wasn’t the voice rumbling in the background that woke Akihiko, but some small, vicious insect sinking tiny but sharp fangs into his calf. He sat up slowly, stifling a gasp as his cold-cramped limbs clenched painfully. With curious eyes he examined his fingers, realising dully that they were completely numb in addition to being a remarkable shade of blue. His toes were in a similar state and it took a few goes to get his feet arranged in the correct stance so he could attempt to stand. 

In retrospect, it had been a very bad idea indeed to assume that the cold would wake him. By now, the sky had lightened to the grey blue of very early dawn and the first birds were starting to sing. At the most, Akihiko reckoned, he’d been out here for four hours but as it turned out that was more than enough to prevent him from even standing anymore. His knees wouldn’t even cooperate in the slightest. 

“Haruhiko…” 

Akihiko glanced up, curious in a strangely detached way to hear his father’s voice. The man was using his ‘walking a fine line’ voice, the one Akihiko had heard multiple times in his rebellious youth. 

“No! Stay bloody well put. I’m not having the pair of you fighting while your brother is sick!” 

Years of misplaced faith tempered Akihiko’s reaction to this massively. Someone like Misaki, open-hearted and warm, would have treated this as something very telling and sweet and paternal. Akihiko just wondered what the hell his father could want of him while he was ill, tried to stand up again and ended up neatly tipping himself into a shrub. 

“One moment…” His father’s heavy footsteps rounded the central flower bed and then stopped. “I’ll call you back.” Seconds later, Akihiko found himself being lifted bodily from the rose bush, cursing all thorny plants roundly, and being set back down on the bench. 

“Don’t just lift me about the place,” he meant to growl, trying to arrange his arms across his chest defensively. But the cold seemed to have seeped into his skull and his tongue couldn’t quite make the right shapes, while his arms appeared to have been replaced with lengths of wet rope. His father gave him a Look, and shook his head despairingly. 

“How long have you been out here?” he asked, gripping one of Akihiko’s frozen hands; the heat seeping from his father’s palm was almost excruciating on the blond’s thin fingers. 

“No idea,” mumbled Akihiko, truthfully. The cold was making his mind fuzzy, sinking deeper into his conscious now he was awake. He gave his father his best miserable expression and was immediately gifted with the man’s heavy woollen coat, warmth still trapped in the folds. 

Usami Fuyuhiko stepped back, frowning slightly, and then sat down next to Akihiko on the bench. He plucked a series of thorns from the boy’s hair and then leant back against the backrest. “Your brother was asking after you.”

“Ha.” Akihiko shivered and brought his knees up to his chest so he could tuck his feet under the coat as well. “Only because he thought I’d be humiliated, right?”

“I’m certain that’s not true,” lied his father smoothly. 

“Ha,” repeated Akihiko. “I’m sure.” 

His father shook his head glumly. “Why you seem to take such vicious delight in thinking your family dislikes you is beyond me.”

For a second, Akihiko stayed silent, trying to eke out all possible meanings from that sentence. Was it merely a comment on Akihiko’s behaviour, or was it, as he suspected, a comparison to his mother and her ability to be angry and happy at the same time. The thought struck him that perhaps he was becoming a bit too concerned with his mother again, and he sighed. “I like being proved right, that’s all.”

“Perhaps you should ask yourself why you seem so insistent that we do not care for you. I myself would certainly like to know.”

“It is difficult,” growled Akihiko, forcing the words past his suddenly chattering teeth, “To so readily assume anybody would care for you when your own mother clearly does not.”

His father looked pensive, suddenly not as confident in himself as usual. When he spoke next it was quietly and calmly, but not without a trace of sudden emotion. “Do you honestly think I don’t love you, Akihiko?”

Akihiko fixed the man with a cold stare. “I find it difficult to believe sometimes, yes.”

“And you have felt this way since..?”

In remembering his childhood, Akihiko’s stomach clenches and twists unpleasantly. “Ever since someone explained to me that everyone had to have two parents.”

“Akihiko…” The sheer kindness in Usami Fuyuhiko’s voice made Akihiko want to block out his ears, close his eyes and scream at the top of his voice. It was just wrong, and it scraped down his frosted nerves painfully. “You are my son. Of course I love you. Ever since the day Tanaka woke me relaying the news you had been born. God knows I haven’t been the best father, not the most attentive or aware, but not for one second, even when you were at your most difficult, did I ever stop caring about you.”

Sullenly, Akihiko leant his forehead on his knees and said, “I know.” Another chill struck him and he pulled his father’s coat tighter around himself. In the middle of the dazedness that accompanied this new bout of tremors he asked, “When was the last time you spoke to mother?”

Usami Fuyuhiko didn’t answer immediately, but paused to think. “About five months ago,” he said finally, “And she was drunk and barely able to stand up, so I suspect the last time I spoke to your mother that she would also recall would be seven months ago.”

“You didn’t tell her what happened to me?” asked Akihiko in a tiny voice, hating himself for it. He didn’t want his mother to know, that was an idea akin to hell for him: he just wanted to be sure that she really wasn’t going to turn up unannounced and therefore he could go through the rest of his hospital stay in peace. 

“No, Akihiko, I have had more pressing concerns.”

“Good.” If he shuffled down slightly in his seat, Akihiko discovered he could bring the collar of the coat up far enough to almost completely cover his face. He left his eyes uncovered, so he could continue to watch everything suspiciously. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes before another chill struck Akihiko and he blurted out, “I keep thinking that she’s here, waiting for me to slip up.”

“Oh?” Usami Fuyuhiko sat forward slightly, lines springing up on his face as he raised his eyebrows. “That’s… interesting…”

Akihiko figured he might as well be hung for the sheep as for a lamb and continued, “I keep spotting her in the periphery of my vision, like she’s trying to sneak up behind me.” He scowled. “Like some sort of great blonde shark.”

His father chuckled drily. “You do have a way with words, my lad.”

“Hmmph,” Akihiko huffed, falling silent again. 

His father shook his head with another chuckle. “As much as I enjoy attempting to bond with you, Akihiko, you’re shaking like a leaf. We should get out inside and let the doctors have a look at you.”

For the second time in fifteen minutes, Akihiko was scooped up in his father’s arms. 

“Stop this!” he barked, trying to flail and finding his limbs too neatly wrapped up in the man’s coat to manage more than a few inches in any direction. “I can walk on my own!”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try. Your feet are entirely blue.”

* * *

In his hands was a water bottle, complete with a fluffy cover. Akihiko stared at it balefully for a moment and then decided bitching probably wasn’t in his best interests. Never mind the depressing heart to heart he’d had with his father earlier on, with the associated hideous embarrassment, he’d also been chewed out by Dr. Fujioka and Dr Hideki for falling asleep outside. Even now the female doctor was explaining to Misaki why Akihiko was resting in a bed full of hot water bottles and blankets. 

At least he could feel his toes again, and could therefore make a half-decent run for it if Misaki went on a rampage. His father had been resigned to Akihiko’s bizarre, passively self-harming behaviour, but Misaki still regarded Akihiko as salvageable. 

Sure enough, Misaki’s face was stormy when he came into the ward. He sat down heavily on the bedside chair and unceremoniously shoved a hand under the blankets – Akihiko jumped with surprise as a hand clenched about one of his icy cold feet. He drew his sheets up to his nose and tried to look as innocent as humanly possible. 

“Must you be such an idiot!” Misaki yanked on of the hot water bottles out, squeezed it with a scowl and then replaced it without much care. “The doctors said you were hypothermic! This isn’t what you need right now!”

With a flutter of his eyelashes, Akihiko shifted over so he could fix Misaki with the saddest look imaginable. “I was just tired, Misaki, and I couldn’t sleep.”

“No! No, you’re not fooling me with that soppy look!” Misaki made to scrub Akihiko’s hair and ended up just petting it instead. “…why couldn’t you sleep?”

Should he admit why? Akihiko was undecided; he had admitted it to his father, but now he was fairly sure that was more to do with the brain scrambling effects of the cold that actually meaning to say anything. But then Misaki fixed him with those big, kind, green eyes and Akihiko’s heart thawed a little more. 

“I hate hospitals,” he said, faintly. “Whenever I was a child, my mother would always torment me if I had to go to hospital. She said I was being lazy.”

Those lovely eyes softened even further and Misaki leant forward, “How could you have been lazy? You were in hospital…” 

“There didn’t have to be a reason,” mumbled Akihiko. “She would just turn on me for no reason. And she was persuasive… Everyone would believe her over me…” 

After glancing about like the woman in question was about to crawl out of the woodwork, Misaki said, “But she’s not here.”

“I know,” whined Akihiko, suddenly feeling very much like a whiny teenager again. He sighed and rolled back to the middle of the bed, wishing he could huddle up without having to take his feet from the soothing warmth of the water bottles. 

Misaki drew himself up, straightening his spine and jutting out his jaw in a fairly adorable representation of someone attempting to be brave. “Well, if she shows up, I’ll have some words for her. So you don’t need to worry about that! I’ll deal with this while you’re still sick.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re an idiot still, but not crazy.” Misaki reached out and tugged one of the blankets up to Akihiko’s nose again. “Stop that smug smile. It doesn’t suit you.”

A few days later and Akihiko was sleeping much more easily in his bed. The momentarily delusions of his mother’s presence had all but stopped, but now he had almost constant growing pains to deal with. He’d been woken up early this morning with an almighty pang down both of his legs, and had spent most of the day so far walking back and forth across the room in an attempt to make them stop hurting. All that had done was reopen the cut across his sole, and now he was confined to bed with a fresh dose of antiseptic cream and a new bandage around his foot. 

Dr Fuijoka clipped across the floor, performed an almost military style stop at the foot of Akihiko’s bed and held up a sheet of paper. Akihiko looked up curiously from trying to stretch his aching calf muscles out and peered at the page; as he regained his years his eye sight was beginning to deteriorate again. 

“… release?” He murmured. He squinted harder at the sheet and then laughed with delight, “Certificate of release? Really?”

The woman smiled, and, for the first time since Akihiko had been three and still determined to love his mother despite her hatred of him, Akihiko found himself genuinely tempted to hug a woman. He couldn’t quite follow through with it, but he put all of his natural charm into his smile and was pleased to see her blush slightly in return. 

“You can go home tonight,” she said, handing the paper over. “You’ve started to produce enough antibodies, you’re essentially over the jaundice and you look about fifteen years old. There’s no reason to keep you anymore.”

Akihiko grinned down at the page and tweaked his pen from its perch behind his ear, signing the bottom with an elegant flourish. “Thank you very much, doctor,” he said, handing it back. 

“My pleasure.”

* * *

Outside the hospital, the spring sun was bright and warm, even as it began to sink, and the reflective glimmers of sunlight on Akihiko’s pale blond hair were almost blinding. Misaki wasn’t the only one who paused to stare at the young man as he stretched lazily and looked about with the curious expression of someone who had been inside for far too long. 

“This is fantastic!” exclaimed Akihiko, slinging an arm over Misaki’s slim shoulders. “It’s such a lovely day!” 

Misaki gently ducked out from under the arm and frowned at the young man, heaving his overnight bag over his shoulder and stepping forward. Behind him Akihiko made a disgruntled noise at being left behind and scurried to keep up, expertly stealing his bag back and trotting ahead a few paces. By the time they crossed the road they were already bickering happily again, Misaki fuming quietly at his inability to shake Akihiko’s confidence even when the man was still adorable and half his normal age. 

And then they rounded the corner and walked straight into the waiting arms of a man in an expensive black suit. 

“Father!” Akihiko attempted to free himself from the heavy arm slung over his neck. “You are meant to be working!” 

Misaki, who was more used to having people draped all over them, ducked and slunk out of the grip, backing immediately into the shiny flank of a limousine. “Usagi-chichi…!” He laughed, slightly hysterically, as Akihiko finally managed to pry himself from his father’s slightly over-exuberant grasp and backed away, looking suspicious and ruffled. 

“What are you doing here?” grumbled the blond, trying to smooth his hair back down again. 

Usagi-chichi gave them a winning smile, drawing a few amazed looks from a few passing female students. Akihiko gave the girls a deadly look until they scuttled away, and then fixed his father with the same evil stare. 

“Is it so strange for a father to be happy that his son is out of the hospital?” He fixed Akihiko with a calm look. “Believe me Akihiko, I am merely happy to see you healthy.” 

For a moment, Misaki reckoned that Akihiko was going to lose his good mood and descend into a paternal-based funk. After a deep breath, though, the young man fluttered blond eyelashes and even managed a small, weak smile. 

“Well, now you’ve interrupted our walk, you might as well give us a lift home,” he said faintly. 

The ride home was awkward, but not as chock full of misery as it had the potential to be. Misaki sat very straight in his seat and fiddled anxiously with the buttons on his shirt. Meanwhile, Akihiko conversed absently with his father, eyes distant but not unhappy, and Misaki figured that somewhere in between coming out of the clinic and turning the corner he must have tripped over something and banged his head on the concrete. 

Usagi-chichi even stayed in the limo when it pulled up outside the apartment block, and managed not to be overly creepy or accidentally offensive. When the limo finally pulled away from the curb, leaving both young men standing in front of their building, highly confused and not entirely sure what had just happened.

Misaki attempted to make a foray into what exactly had happened, only for Akihiko to shrug. 

“We had a father-son talk,” Usagi-san said, still wearing his special rabbit in the headlights expression. “And apparently this is how we interact now.”

Together they entered the building, and headed for the elevator, as Misaki asked, “I wish he’d make up his mind. I get really confused about what he wants.”

Akihiko pressed the button for their floor and shrugged. “His mind is an utter mystery to me, Misaki. He’s a bit weird.”

“Your whole family is a bit weird,” moaned Misaki hopelessly. “In fact, they’re not just a bit weird, they’re a whole heap of weird. Is there something in the water at your house that makes you people act like that?”

The lift stopped and they stepped out into the corridor, Misaki going first to unlock the door. They kicked off their shoes in the genkan, and Misaki turned in time to see Akihiko take the first full step into his home again. The blond boy beamed from ear to ear and prowled in further, bright eyes taking in the almost sterile cleanliness of the penthouse. Misaki had spent more time in here cleaning than the sleeping he had intended to do; it had been difficult to sleep without his lover suckered onto his side like a human octopus, and scrubbing the flat from top to bottom had distracted him from the emptiness of the place. 

Avoiding the accusations of strangeness masterfully, Akihiko padded over to where Suzuki-san sat on the sofa, and sat down beside the giant teddy. When he leant his head against the toy’s head, his blond hair fanned out delicately through the fuzzy felt of the bear’s hide. “I wonder how permanent his new attitude is though.”

“You want it to be permanent?” asked Misaki, setting the bag down on one of the other seats. 

“I don’t know. It’s not making up for anything, but maybe…” He sighed, “He wasn’t fantastic as a father, but he wasn’t the worst parent I had. He hasn’t completely condemned me yet.”

“You should give him a chance, maybe,” said Misaki. He felt dreadful as ever, telling Akihiko what to do in these sorts of circumstances, but he really wanted one of them to at least have one parent. “After his initial behaviour, he was actually kind of nice!”

Akihiko sighed, starting to look a bit forlorn again. It was only his first hour home, and Misaki wasn’t going to have the other man depressed that quickly. He cast around for some options and lurched immediately to the least perverted one. 

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll make us dinner.”

* * *

They ate in comfortable silence, Akihiko examining each scrap of food he was about to consume with a delighted glint in his eye. Across the table, Misaki watched with a baffled expression, yet there was a pleased warmth residing in his chest. Seeing his lover genuinely enjoy his mealtimes again was a pleasure to behold – especially when Misaki had been told it was very important that Akihiko be kept well fed so he could grow up suitably. 

Afterwards, Misaki washed the dishes himself, shrugging off any offers of help and insisting that Akihiko should sit down and rest. An unruly teenager, even when he was fully adult in mind, Akihiko stuck his tongue out at his lover and went upstairs to have a shower instead. He came down half an hour later looking damp but pleased, and smelling pleasantly of his expensive shampoo again, instead of the cheap stuff Misaki had supplied him with while he had been in the hospital. 

“You’re still worried.”

“Of course I am, you jerk! Did you miss the bit where you nearly died?!”

“Sadly, no. I was still in the room for that.” And then Akihiko was merely millimetres away, so close that Misaki nearly went cross eyed trying to look into his lover’s baby blues. “Just as I am in this room right now.”

“I’m not moping over that still,” Misaki tried to growl. “I’m just taking my time getting over it.”

“Just as long as you are,” purred Akihiko, padding off to ease down on the sofa. Misaki watched him stretch out, a king returning to his throne, and felt an inescapable urge to join him. He edged over and perched on the last cushion carefully. Seconds later a foot crept into his lap, followed swiftly by another. Without looking down, he shoved them away – of course, they were replaced moments later and this time Misaki waited a few moments before removing them again. Eventually it ended up with Akihiko’s feet firmly planted in Misaki’s lap anyway, because the blond was much more persistent than Misaki was resistant. 

“You’ve taken the bandage off,” chided Misaki, lifting the slim foot off his lap and twisting it slightly – just until Usagi-san winced a tiny bit – so he could see the cut on the bottom. It was no longer inflamed looking, but he didn’t want the fresh scab to split again, so he abandoned the sofa and fetched a bandage from one of the many first aid boxes they had lying about the place. Every area in the penthouse was a potential death trap if Akihiko was in his dying-author phase of the creative process. 

Carefully, Misaki wound the bandage on, stopping just above the blond’s ankle and patting his handiwork with a smile of satisfaction. When he glanced up at Usagi-san, a pretty smile was plastered on the man’s face and toes wiggled beckoningly against Misaki’s hand. 

“These growing pains are terrible, you know,” whimpered Akihiko, throwing his head back against the armrest like a swooning heroine. He even brought his arm up to cover his face, although Misaki suspected it was more to hide the fact the bastard was quietly snickering to himself. “My legs hurt so much…”

“You bastard,” Misaki said without feeling, plopping himself onto the sofa again and choosing the bandaged foot to start on. “This is only because you’re just out of the hospital! If you ever ask again, I’m kicking you.”

“Duly noted.” 

Akihiko’s feet as a fifteen year old were still a few sizes too big for his delicate frame, but had somehow remained elegant, if slightly over scaled. He needed his toenails cut, but that was the only fault Misaki could find with either appendage. For want of knowing what exactly to do, the younger man ran his fingers firmly along the curve of the arch, rubbed circles over the base of the toes, smoothed down the fine boned dorsal side of each foot and willingly moved on up the legs. Not that Misaki was into this sort of thing, of course, but Akihiko had the most fantastic legs. They were pale and smooth, decorated with only the slightly amount of translucent hair, and Misaki massaged the tightness from each sinewy calf muscle with a fair amount of delight at the tiny, pleased whimpers Usagi-san was making. 

When he was done – tempted to move on up to the thighs and then stopping himself with a hefty dose of guilt – he dropped his hands from Akihiko’s legs and tried to calm his own raging heartbeat. No, they wouldn’t be doing anything tonight! Usagi-san was only out of the hospital and Misaki wasn’t sure if he really did want to do anything to someone who was still more-or-less an invalid. 

Evidently, Usagi-san did not feel the same way, because he swung himself up and hopped over Misaki’s lap to purr down at him in a manner that didn’t help the fit of Misaki’s khakis. 

The blonde leant down, and gently pressed his mouth to Misaki’s tensed lips, not asking for anything more than contact. Finally Misaki broke, and pulled back reluctantly, giving his head a little shake.

* * *

“I…” Misaki touched Akihiko’s cheek softly, wincing as he realised that in comparison to a normal skin tone, his lover was still faintly jaundiced. “I don’t know… Right now?”

Akihiko gave a little huff of breath and then dropped a surprisingly sweet kiss to the crown of Misaki’s head, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s neck and tugging him in close to his chest. “All right. Just as long as you’re in my bed.”

“Pervert,” mumbled Misaki, his reflexes kicking in briefly before the chance to torment Usagi-san got the better of him. “Anyway, I’ve been sleeping in it most for the last few weeks, so it’s definitely my bed now. You can find your own!” He laughed up at Akihiko as he raised an elegant blond brow in surprise. 

“You have your own bed, kid, you just never sleep in it anymore.” Akihiko’s smug look vanished abruptly when Misaki neatly tipped him onto the floor. “Admit it!” he called after the brunette as Misaki attempted to find sanctuary. “You just like sleeping next to me!”


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

Time passed, and Usagi-san aged again. Within a week of receiving his freedom he was the same willowy sixteen year old he had been at the very beginning of this ridiculous affair, back to his normal way of living. Misaki was finally able to leave the penthouse without feeling guilty and worried, returning after work and classes to find the author ensconced in his study, fingers tapping away as he wrote.

It was also around this same time that Misaki realised he hadn't had sex in a month.

Mostly it was Usagi-san's fault. The man had been even more clingy than normal, draped over Misaki at the slightest provocation, fingers dancing inside the collar of Misaki's shirts, teasing touches about the waist, glittering eyes sending come-hither messages.

"You're a pervert," Misaki had scolded him on more than one occasion, peeling an overly amorous teenager off his neck. "Go do your work, you idiot."

Akihiko had grumbled but skulked away obediently, casting mournful looks back at Misaki until the younger man had made an offensive gesture at him, and Usagi-san had chuckled and ambled off to plan another pounce from a distance.

This had happened repeatedly, and each time Misaki's will to say 'no' and shrug the man off had weakened. By the time Akihiko looked sixteen again, Misaki was just on the edge of crumbling.

* * *

Misaki's last growth spurt had been a long, long time ago, but then again, he had never grown very much at all, and Akihiko still had another foot or so in height to gain, never mind the bulking out. As a result he struggled to be appropriately sympathetic to his lover's plight. Especially when the pains woke them both in the middle of the night – Akihiko thrashing in grating agony and clutching his thighs, and Misaki when he received an accidental but nevertheless sharp kick to the shin.

He sat up groggily, rubbing the sore spot on his shin, and watched in silence for a moment. Akihiko flopped about a second longer and then hauled himself out of bed, stretching down to touch his toes and groaning in pain.

"Do you need anything?" Misaki yawned and rubbed his eyes sleepily. His whole body was swaying with tiredness, and it was a trial to even remain upright.

"'m fine…" Akihiko staggered slightly and caught himself on the edge of the bed. He gave Misaki a mournful look. "Legs hurt though."

Through the fog in his mind, Misaki smiled a little – Akihiko was always entertaining when he was half asleep and befuddled. He watched for a few more moments as the young man staggered about like he was drunk, finally managing to reach the doorway and tripping out. Misaki waited for a second for the sound of someone falling face first onto the hardwood or bouncing down the stairs, but there were only tottering footsteps.

Misaki managed to sink into a doze, propped up against his pillows and the headboard, and was woken up by a pitiful whimper from the doorway. He cracked open an eye and caught sight of Usagi-san clinging to the doorframe and holding out one of the rice heating pads that he would traditionally use on his stiff neck and wrists after a long day's writing.

"What?"

"Can't figure out the microwave…" Akihiko waved the heating pad in Misaki's direction hopefully. "Please..?"

With a put upon sigh Misaki hauled himself out of bed and stomped over. He snatched the heating pad away and growled into Akihiko's face, receiving a brief kiss on the tip of his nose for his troubles.

"You better still be awake when I get back."

Of course, when Misaki returned – with three steaming heat pads, after hunting out a couple more while waiting for the first to heat – Akihiko was sprawled out on his stomach, making contented wheezing noises as he tried to breathe through his pillow. For a moment the temptation to roll the young man out of bed was overwhelming, but Misaki controlled himself and instead placed the heating pads over the backs of long legs, dragging the sheets back up and elbowing Akihiko in the ribs.

"Wake me up again and you sleep on the sofa."

Akihiko grunted agreeably and cushioned his head on Misaki's shoulder when he lay back down.

* * *

One week tipped into the next, and Misaki woke after a particularly bad night's worth of sleep – thanks in no small part to the lithe form plastered to his flank – with an aching erection. He lay very still, willing his arousal away, but nothing worked. Akihiko's sleep-warm body against his side was just too tempting, and Misaki couldn't resist anymore. He'd tried, damn it, but it wasn't working.

Slowly, afraid he might wake the sleeping teenager before he'd put his plan into action, Misaki rolled over from his back and eyed Akihiko's balmy expression balefully. A momentary flicker of a pink tongue lapped out from thin lips, and Misaki froze in case it was a prelude to more stirring. Nothing more happened aside from Akihiko giving a slightly undignified mewl in his sleep and tossing his head slightly on his pillow. Strands of fair hair fanned out over his face and Misaki wafted them away cautiously, leaning in a little closer and summoning his courage. He pressed a delicate peck of a kiss to sleep slack lips and abruptly burrowed his face back into his own pillow.

Beside him there was no movement, and he tilted his head slightly so one eye could check on his bed mate – still sleeping peacefully. With another quick bolt of courage, Misaki attempted another kiss, and then another. This third peck finally stirred Usagi-san from the depths of his dreams, and fuzzy blue eyes flickered open momentarily, met Misaki's embarrassed green gaze and then slid shut just as quickly.

"I had the best dream," mumbled Akihiko, just as Misaki was about to give up in a huff, "…don't remember what happened, but it was good…" He wriggled closer, the evidence of his own interest pressing to Misaki's thigh, and sighed. "You're nice and warm."

"Do you not understand the purpose of having such a big bed?" griped Misaki without any feeling, a blush coming to his cheeks as he pushed his hips a little further forward against Usagi-san's. "I always wake up to you plastered all over me."

"Oh, you know you love it…" Akihiko turned his head to yawn massively, and then gave Misaki a mischievous little smile. "Is there something else you might lo-"

A door slammed and crashed downstairs, making both of them jump in fright, and then a strident voice called.

"Sensei? Oh, _sensei_?!" High heels were approaching up the stairs now. Misaki tried to peel Akihiko off, all thoughts of carnal pleasure abruptly vanishing like he'd been doused with icy water, while the author in question just clung tighter, tucking his head down under the sheets as if he hoped to vanish completely.

Moments later, Aikawa-san burst through the door, all smiles and fingernails tapping on her watch. "Time to get up, sensei! You have work to do!"

"Go away, you harpy." Akihiko didn't extract himself from the sheets to growl at her. "I'm sleeping."

"No, you're not," said Aikawa-san matter-of-factly, "Now get up and get ready. We have a meeting in an hour!"

A pair of lavender-blue eyes, all creased with sadness around the corners peered out from under the sheets, fixing Misaki with a mournful look. "Tell her to go away, Misaki…"

The young man shrugged, trying to rid himself of the sulky feeling that he evidently wasn't going to get laid this morning either. "Go to work, you slacker."

The eyes flickered with mild annoyance and Akihiko sat up reluctantly. "Fine. Get out while I change then."

Aikawa tapped her watch again. "You have ten minutes, or I come and get you by force."

When the door shut, Akihiko flopped back down onto the mattress and covered his face with his palms. Misaki watched him for a second and then decided that he might as well achieve something with this day, if not an orgasm or two like he was originally planning, and hauled himself out of bed. He was picking through his clothes absently when Usagi-san asked, "Do you have any formal clothes I could borrow?"

Misaki glanced at the bed, where Usagi-san was slowly rolling himself over towards the edge, and then back to his cupboard. "Probably…" He ran his hand along his hangers and chose a pair of suit trousers and a shirt. "Would these do?"

"As long as they fit."

* * *

Usagi-san left ten minutes later, dressed in Misaki's clothes, hair hastily combed and chewing morosely on a piece of dry toast. Misaki made Aikawa-san promise she would get the author some proper food at some point during the day and then waved them both off.

It was the first time that Akihiko had left the penthouse without Misaki in a week, and it was weird. Yes, Misaki himself had come and gone as he pleased, and yes, Akihiko had accompanied him a couple times on trips to the shops, but it wasn't the same. The place was empty without its owner, lurking and prowling about the place in his predatory fashion, and Misaki struggled to remind himself that Akihiko had left knowing how to return. It wasn't going to be another runaway situation, it was just going to be a normal day.

For want of anything to do, Misaki sat down and did some coursework. There was an essay on poetry to write, and some economics theory to be learnt, and the young man put himself to it manfully. Sadly, he soon found himself distracted by the pitter-patter on the windows as it began to rain outside and caught himself still staring at the bay windows a few minutes later, mouth hanging open and brain completely blank.

"Focus!" he told himself, firmly. Half an hour later, a further paragraph into his poetry essay, he began to wonder what Usagi-san would be doing at Marukawa. Was it a normal meeting about selling his next book? Was something up for a television or movie adaptation? Did Isaka-san just want to check his best-selling author was back up to par and possibly annoy him at the same time?

He leant back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pen. When Akihiko got back later on he would be in a mood, liable to snap and grumble all day, and something would have to be done so Misaki wouldn't snap back and strangle him. A nice dinner, perhaps, and he would even suggest they have a beer or something. Not only because the alcohol would soothe the other man's temper, but because if they were both slightly tipsy Misaki would have a chance at finally achieving what he had wanted all along.

The chair creaked as he sat forward again, dropping his pen to the table top. No, he wouldn't get distracted with thoughts like that. There was work to be done and some chores to do, and thinking of being in bed with Usagi-san, pushing and grinding against one another, skins slick with sweat…

"Aargh!" Misaki leapt up, away from the table, and tried to walk two directions at once, fluttering madly. His blush was scalding his cheeks and the thoughts were still going on in his head; how delicious Akihiko would look when he would toss his head back, displaying that slender throat with the twitching pulses… "Stop it!"

He fled to find something else to do, that might keep his untrustworthy, traitorous imagination from flitting back to Usagi-san, debauched and happy about it. Cleaning the bedroom didn't help, because the room always smelt like Usagi-san, like his shampoo and cologne and that natural smoky, inky smell the man seemed to have. Cleaning the man's study didn't help because the shelves were nearly groaning with lines of trashy BL books with Misaki's likeness emblazoned on the cover, normally in some sort of clinch with a version of Usagi-san. Neither did attempting to hoover the main living area help, because, god damn it, Misaki was fucking horny.

There was only one cure.

* * *

There wasn't any way Misaki could convince himself otherwise – Akihiko was the be all and end all of his masturbatory fantasies. Initially it had been all about those broad shoulders and long legs, the sinewy strong muscles that flexed subtly under expensive fabrics, that mane of silky silvery blonde hair, his aristocratic looks with that smug, beautiful mouth and those eyes. Misaki shuddered and his urges drove him to lock the bathroom door. Oh, those eyes, wherein the lavender blue held all the passion in the world.

Misaki swiftly yanked off his polo-shirt, pausing as he caught a glimpse of himself, half-naked, in the mirror. He looked flushed and frankly a bit ridiculous, with his blush spreading down his chest to pinken his nipples even more. He didn't bother dropping his trousers but unbuttoned them and pulled down the flies. His cock hardened rapidly in his shaking grasp as he momentarily struggled to remember how he liked it. Usagi-san's overactive libido had ensured Misaki hadn't need to jerk himself off for quite some time and getting back to the rhythm was tricky.

Then the image of Usagi-san crept into his head, and his hand jerked in a new rhythm all of its own that made Misaki's toes curl He staggered back to perch on the edge of the bathtub, toes scraping the floor tiles as they clenched and relaxed.

This wasn't the grown-up, teeth-grindingly handsome Akihiko in Misaki's mind, but the young prettier version. The one that just this morning had had to steal a pair of Misaki's black trousers for want of anything else to wear. The one that had woken Misaki with his morning erection grinding against his lover's hip. The one who remembered who Misaki was and very clearly was dying for it just like Misaki himself was.

Misaki made a point of recalling each sleep ruffled wave of blond hair, every point on the curve of the boy's pout as he had been made to get out of bed. Misaki's toes clenched so hard they began to cramp as he recalled Akihiko sliding Misaki's trousers on, up over sinewy calf, lithe thigh and finally the pleasing smooth slope of his ass.

He could imagine how much better it would be to get Usagi-san out of those clothes again, to pin him to the bed sheets and explore pale skin until the other man was begging for it. Turning the tables would be amazing…

A hand drifted up to his nipples, lightly pinching and rubbing as he imagined doing the same thing to his lover, quietly tormenting him until he broke. Misaki struggled to keep that picture in his mind as his hand sped up, slicking pre-come down his length until he was shaking. But that effortless beauty slipped away, to be replaced with the broad shoulders and practised sneer of a fully grown Usagi-san. This thought made his balls tighten abruptly, and he spilled over his own hand, gasping breathlessly. For a moment he enjoying the fizzing in his blood that followed an orgasm, but did his best to prevent himself from being lured into a post-orgasmic stupor. He had just jerked off in the bathroom, like a horny teenager, and now he was fairly covered in the evidence – something would have to be done about this.

Sighing, he wobbled over to the sink and washed his hands off, intending to grab a washcloth so as to wipe himself down more thoroughly. But then, for the second time that day, the front door opened and slammed. Misaki squawked in shock, fumbling his grip on the tap and spraying water all down himself.

"Misaki?" It was Usagi-san – of course, it was – pottering about down stairs. If Misaki didn't answer quickly, he knew the other man would get worried and come check on him, so he scrambled for his shirt and yanked it on, tried to make his hair lie flat and only just remembered to tuck himself back into his trousers before he left the bathroom.

"I'm here, I'm here," he called, dashing down the stairs in an over-exuberant fashion and coming face to face with a young man who bore a striking resemblance to a drowned rat. "Oh." Shock struck him mute for a moment before he said, "Is it still raining outside?"

"What do you think?" grumbled Akihiko, dropping his drenched coat onto the floor and grimacing as it made a 'splat' noise on the hardwood. He continued to remove bits and pieces of clothing, as Misaki danced attendance around him, trying to organise everything into an isolated heap.

"How on earth did you manage to get so wet?" Misaki asked, pausing in picking up socks to help peel Usagi-san's dress shirt from his back. "Did Aikawa-san give you a lift back?"

"She gave me a lift close to the house, and then those aggravating growing pains started again. I thought I'd walk it off." He added, "It wasn't raining at the time."

"It's been raining for hours!"

The man had the decency to look a bit abashed. "Well, when I said 'close'…"

"Idiot," said Misaki simply, throwing a damp sock onto Akihiko's shoulder and then noticing just too late, that the rivulets of water ran down the man's chest in interesting patterns, skirting around the svelte musculature. Two pale pink nipples were at attention in the cold and Misaki couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight. By the time he realised that his attentions were so obvious, Akihiko had already developed his best predatory grin. Misaki took a step backwards and nearly tripped over the pile of clothes. "Oh no, not now! You're just out of hospital!"

"A little bit of exertion does a body wonders now and again," purred Akihiko, swiping his pale lips with his tongue in a mimicry of Misaki's own action. "Come on, please?" He darted closer, cold practically radiating off his body even as his breath warmed Misaki's cheek.

The heady sensation of post-release was still dancing up and down Misaki's spine, and crept into his brain, suggesting that this was exactly what he had wanted this morning, what he had wanted for days… And it was in front of him right now, half naked and purring with want.

"Bed, now," growled Akihiko, mouth curving into the familiar sneer of his older form. Misaki couldn't do anything but obey.

* * *

Despite Misaki's earlier attempts at corralling clothes, the path up to their bedroom ended up littered with various items; their underwear the last thing left on. Akihiko's pair, stolen off Misaki that morning, were also soaked through and clung very appealing to all parts of his anatomy. It was a trial for Misaki not to stare, so he gave up and did just that, blushing ferociously when Akihiko smirked at him and slid his briefs right to the floor.

"Come here," he purred huskily, sauntering the few steps closer to Misaki and running his hands down the young man's body until his thumbs hooked into the waistband of Misaki's underwear. The student's cock throbbed needily, his body seemingly only sensitised by his previous orgasm. The cold was still rolling off Usagi-san's skin in waves, raising chilled goose bumps on Misaki's chest and stomach, and he had to touch to make sure he wasn't hallucinating the temperature. "Ah… You're warm…"

"And you're freezing!" Misaki exclaimed, his hands slipping down damp arms, running back up and palming down svelte pecs and the smooth ridges of his abs. "Lie down!" A quick shove later and Akihiko was sprawled, naked and laughing freely, on the bed. His whole body was once again available for Misaki's perusal, the shine of the lights on his damp skin highlighting his form so that it looked as though he was made of silver. Misaki's briefs became rather constricting for a moment before Usagi-san flipped onto his stomach – with due caution for his erection – and tugged his lover's underwear down in a smooth move. "Ah!"

Cold lips and a warm tongue made themselves very well acquainted with Misaki's cock, sliding down the underside of his length and pausing to suck momentarily on his sac. Blue eyes peered up from under blonde lashes coquettishly and Misaki had to look away to control himself – his gaze fell automatically on the pale expanse of Akihiko's back, followed down to the dimples above his buttocks, over the flat curve of his ass and the length of his legs. That devilish mouth closed about the tip of his cock and set up a steady sucking, and Misaki gasped in delight.

With a pleased hum that sent shivers down his lover's spine, Akihiko's hands stroked Misaki's thighs to help him calm slightly and then crept around to cup his backside and to encourage him to thrust into his mouth. Overwhelmed, Misaki let his head fall back, his fingers tangling in silky slick blond hair and letting his hips twitch forward helplessly, into the velvet warmth of his lover's mouth and the steady friction of his chilled lips. He was almost lost to the feelings when a sneaky finger began to push against his entrance, the tip slipping in dry and startling him to jerk away from it and neatly choking Akihiko with a sudden thrust.

Panting, they drew apart, considering each other with lust-darkened eyes; Akihiko slowly slid two of his long, elegant fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks pointedly as he sucked and licked the digits. As if hypnotised by that sultry gaze, Misaki crawled onto the bed, arranging himself alongside his lover's chilled form. They still fitted together well, legs tangling comfortably, arms draping over flanks, nuzzling cheeks and jawlines as Akihiko's spit slicked fingers circled Misaki's hole teasingly. One slipped in with ease and Misaki gasped faintly into a open-mouthed kiss as he was opened slowly, teasingly. By the time Akihiko drew away briefly to snag the lube from one of the bedside cabinets, Misaki's whole body was tingling and the new slickness only added to his arousal.

Two fingers was enough of a stretch, and then Akihiko coaxed Misaki up onto his elbows and knees. His cool hands and warm lips prowled down the curve of Misaki's back. A new drizzle of slick was poured down over his hole, and he couldn't help but tense as the head of Akihiko's cock pressed against him. Almost purring with lust, Akihiko draped his lithe body over Misaki's trembling one, breath tickling into his ear.

"Relax, Misaki," he rasped, breath shivering. "It's me. I love you…"

The burn of the stretch as Akihiko pushed in made Misaki's eyes water, but the continued whisper of adoration in his ear made tears surge up even more. He tried to push his body up to find more contact with his lover's slickly smooth body, but Akihiko's hands, strong still even if they were much smaller than normal, gripped his waist firmly and held him in position as his thrusts sped up.

"Nhh!" The angle and the speed was grinding perfectly against his prostate, sparks speeding up and down his spine. Already his body was threatening orgasm; the sheer thrill of having his lover back and fucking him again was simply amazing. "Oh!"

"You're amazing," Akihiko moaned, and Misaki glanced back in time to see the young man throw his head back in sheer pleasure. The ivory column of the young man's throat shone in the low light of the bedroom, droplets of water still pooling in the hollows above his collarbones. He was gorgeous, ethereal and lovely and Misaki's nails drove into the sheets as he came there and then.

With a strangled moan, Akihiko followed his lover into orgasm, managing a few more shaky thrusts before his exhausted body collapsed atop of Misaki's. They slowly disentangled and rearranged themselves about each other in silence.

"I like being a teenager again," mumbled Akihiko throatily after a while.

"Where's your staying power now?" Misaki cackled into the sheets, carefully shifting away from the damper patches.

"Oh yes? Like you can talk!" exclaimed Akihiko, looming over Misaki in what would have normally been a menacing manner. While he was small and lovely and still damp and even shivering a bit from the cold now, not so much. Misaki dug a sharp elbow into bony ribs and fled, bounding down the corridor and only halting when he realised that Akihiko wasn't following.

He snaffled a warm towel from the hot press and padded back to the bedroom, cautiously peering around the door to make sure an ambush wasn't being plotted. But no, Akihiko was still sprawled on the bed, all boneless limbs. Misaki dropped the towel on his head and told him to dry off, flopping down at the head of the bed and kicking the sheets down so he would be spared the wet spots. Of course, the other young man wriggled around and plopped himself directly on Misaki's pillow.

"Get off, you jerk! That's my side!" Misaki tossed himself at the offending young man and then nearly screamed with shock. "You're still _freezing_! How do you _do_ that?" He grabbed the towel, still faintly warm, and promptly attacked Usagi-san with it.

There were a few moments of tangled flailing and laughter, towels and sheets wrapping about limbs and torsos, and then Misaki found himself atop of Akihiko. Both were panting, hearts beating hard with the exertion and the sudden closeness. Sticky and satisfied as he was, Misaki felt his cock twitch with interest. Shaggy haired and with normally pale cheeks lit up with a healthy glow, Akihiko looked frankly edible, and, really, when was Misaki going to get a chance to do this again? He bowed his head and gingerly kissed his lover, leaning his weight down on the young man's shoulders so he couldn't regain the upper hand.

It had even been a while since they had kissed like this, slow and sweet and enjoying each other. Misaki had, for all his protests, always really liked kissing – maybe it was simply because Akihiko was an excellent kisser, knowing when to push forward and dominate his lover or, like now, when to lie back and let Misaki have his way. He might have even whimpered into Misaki's mouth, a noise which went straight to the brunette's cock and made his hips jerk forward shakily.

Akihiko tipped his head back, breaking the kiss with a canny look up at Misaki. Now with kiss swollen lips and that expression on his face, he was a devilish creature, luring his lover in with his confidence and beauty. Blonde eyelashes fluttered and a pink tongue flickered over swollen lips, and when he spoke his voice was mouth-wateringly husky. "Come on, Misaki… Take me?"

With a strangled moan Misaki pressed his lips back to Akihiko's, a hand sliding up to tangle in that mop of silky blonde hair. His other hand fumbled with his own cock, as long legs hooked over his thighs and there was the opening pop of the lube bottle. The idea of his lover sliding slick fingers into himself made Misaki's hips jerk forward again, only helped by the series of breathy gasps that Akihiko released into his mouth.

"I love you," the young man whispered, hitching his hips higher and nibbling softly at Misaki's lower lip in the most suggestive manner possible. He helped his lover line himself up, and then dropped his head back to the pillow, arching his spine to ease the way. Misaki paused to control himself, his forehead tucked into the angle of Akihiko's neck, pressing desperate kisses to his pulse point. Salt slicked onto his tongue, and he followed a trail of sweat up to the young man's sharp jawline. So absorbed he was in nuzzling and nipping at Akihiko's throat, Misaki was startled when long legs wrapped tightly about his hips and Akihiko whispered hoarsely, "Would you _fuck me_ already?"

Shakily, Misaki obeyed, keeping his face tucked against Akihiko's throat, both his hands tangled in Akihiko's hair now. He had to focus on his breathing to keep himself from coming too soon – he wanted to enjoy this for as long as he possibly could – but the whole situation was so stimulating it was very hard indeed. He was thrusting into a warm, slick body, which was shuddering with pleasure beneath him at each of his movements. Akihiko's breath was hissing out in strangled cries, one of his cool hands sliding up and down Misaki's back, while the other was between them, wrapped about his own cock and stroking in time with Misaki's thrusts.

"Just… there…" Akihiko's hips hitched up slightly and he gasped, nails digging sharply into Misaki's back. Between them his hand moved in a more frantic rhythm until, with a final gasp, he came. Sticky warmth coated both their bellies, and Misaki buried his face even closer to Akihiko's shoulder, pressing closer and deeper. Muscles fluttered and clenched about his cock, and he managed only a few more unsteady thrusts before pleasure scoured down his spine and everything went white for a moment.

When he came back to himself, he gingerly, for both Akihiko's sake and his own sensitive flesh, pulled out and lay down beside his lover. Despite the stickiness and uncomfortable cooling damp of their skin, they wrapped themselves up together as close as possible, all limbs tangled, breathing in comfortable sync. Misaki tucked his head under Akihiko's chin, his ear canted to his lover's chest to hear the calming thud of his heartbeat and the soft rumble of his breath.

If Misaki happened to whisper that he loved Akihiko, it was accepted in comfortable silence and there was no need to mention it again.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fllllllllllllllluuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuffffffffffffffffffffff ffffffffffffffffffffffffffff fffffffffffffffffff. Also, pronz.
> 
> Guys, I've been gone for so long! Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysor ry! Writer's block hit like a ton of bricks and I really have no other reason. So I hope this porn satisfies you... and hopefully it won't be so long next time!
> 
> Also, only one more chapter to go! So close! I can see the end!


	22. Chapter 22

The speed that Akihiko had grown up at was a mere fraction of his de-aging experience, and as a result it was quite difficult to track the changes. For the couple weeks, Misaki would occasionally pause and consider his lover carefully. Once or twice he was struck by a change in height he hadn't previously noticed, and on one notable occasion had realised how broad Akihiko's shoulders had become.

One day though, as Misaki prepared to get ready for work, bumbling around the kitchen, he was interrupted by a fantastic sight. Usagi-san emerged from their bedroom wearing his everyday outfit of a waistcoat, dress shirt and suit trousers.

"A bit loose," he said, smoothing down his waistcoat with a grin as he came down the stairs. "But it fits again!"

"Look at you, all grown up." Misaki couldn't stop the unbidden smile on his face. The clothes were a bit loose and didn't look as sharp as usual, but they did fit, and Usagi-san was evidently delighted. Of course, so was Misaki, because his lover was almost back to normal, and soon they could put this whole horrible experience behind them. Maybe they would even be better for the whole event, but Misaki would still be celebrating once it was over and done with. "Remember you have an appointment with Dr. Fujioka this afternoon. She'll be pleased too."

"I'll remember," rumbled Usagi-san, padding around the kitchen island to lean down and kiss Misaki on the cheek. He even had stubble – a phenomenon he had only acquired in his late twenties, he had confessed one slightly tipsy evening – which rasped loudly against Misaki's jawline. "What I'm not going to remember to do is charge my razor again. Remind me when you get home, please?"

"I'm not your bloody day-planner! Go put it on the charger now, idiot!" Misaki gave him a light push, surprising himself when he moved instead of his intended target. With the last few years he had grown, Akihiko had put on a fair amount of weight in muscle.

With a cheeky grin, Akihiko ducked his head and gave Misaki a soft peck on the cheek. "No more pushing me around, huh?"

"Who'd want to push you around…" grumbled Misaki, picking up his bag and ducking his head to sling it over his shoulders and hide his blush.

"You did. Repeatedly some nights, as I recall…" He chuckled and picked up the coffee pot. "Have a good day."

* * *

Misaki did indeed have a good day – Usagi-san was nearly back to normal, his visit to Dr Fujioka would prove his health to be fine, and they could move on finally. Due to his sheer delight, even the most tedious tasks were easy and quick to do, and he left many a fading editor in his wake, stunned by his cheery good mood.

Even Aikawa-san, who had been checking and re-checking Usagi-san's latest submission to the publishing house and was therefore exhausted, was picked up by Misaki's enthusiasm.

"Good news then?" she asked, shuffling papers on her desk.

"He's healthy again," Misaki said cheerfully. "One more doctor's appointment and that's it!"

"Fantastic news!" The woman grinned. "I'll be popping round tomorrow to hand over these corrections, but pass on my congratulations now, Misaki-kun."

"I will do." He checked his phone and found a missed call from Usagi-san. "Oh. Excuse me!"

There was a break room at the end of the corridor, so he ducked in there to make his call, waiting for nearly a minute before his lover answered.

"Misaki," purred Akihiko when he picked up, voice especially deep and rich. "Not interrupting, am I?" His tone indicated that if he was, he wasn't sorry in the slightest.

"Just taking a break." He poured himself a cup of water from the cooler one-handedly and sipped it as he stared out of the window absently. "Did you go to the doctor's?"

"Yes, Misaki," said the older man in his best hen-pecked voice. "And I plugged my razor in, and I've eaten my lunch. Aren't you proud of me?"

Wrinkling his nose and sticking his tongue out, Misaki sighed. "You are getting better at acting like a normal person. What did the doctor say?"

"I am almost perfectly healthy, my antibody levels are still high and the virus levels in my blood are practically non-existent."

A shiver sped through Misaki's body, sprinting up and down his spine and making his hair stand on end. "That's… great…" he croaked. It was over then. Finally, finally over. Knees weak, he sat down on a nearby chair.

"Don't be so enthused." Akihiko chuckled, "I'll have to visit one last time in a month, but that is essentially it!" He paused and when he spoke again, quieter and sweeter. "When are you coming home?"

Misaki checked the clock. "Another couple hours. Why?"

"I just want to see you, that's all."

"You'll just have to wait," he answered. "I'll bring home something special for dinner. You want anything?"

"Mainly you," purred Usagi-san. Misaki immediatelt blushed bright crimson at the sheer lecherousness in the man's voice.

"Don't be weird." He laughs anyway. "It'll be a surprise then. With extra green peppers."

Usagi-san whined in a particular heart-broken fashion – Misaki could just imagine the man draping himself over something and casting up his best maltreated puppy expression.

"All right, only a few peppers," said Misaki. "And I'll get some beers too."

"Good idea," Akihiko purred, suddenly perfectly happy again. "I will see you later. Love you."

The blush surged over Misaki's face and he muttered a few garbled words before he managed, "Yeah, me too. See you, bye," all in a rush and then nearly dropped the phone in his hurry to hang up.

* * *

The next day was a Saturday, and Misaki had been intending to sit down and focus on some school work for most of the day, but when he woke up with a splitting headache and a very sore behind, he chose to put that on the backburner for a few hours. Instead he chose to roll over and give Akihiko a glare – which would have been more effective, and certainly more satisfying, if the man had been awake.

Akihiko slept like the dead, even more so now when he was still regaining his last few years, so Misaki had to prod him repeatedly in the ribs until he showed the slightest sign of stirring. Eventually, groggy blue eyes flickered open, scanned over the ceiling briefly and then glanced over at Misaki. A smug, self-satisfied grin momentarily flickered over the man's handsome face and then he grimaced and shut his eyes again with a groan.

"How much did we drink last night?" he mumbled, rolling closer to Misaki and burying his face in the pillows.

"Far, far too much," said Misaki, regretting it immediately when his head throbbed in time with his words. He could remember celebrating after dinner, drinking all of the beer that he had brought in and then turning to Usagi-san's bottles of expensive liquor. After that, the night was a bit fuzzy but his body ached in that manner that indicated it had been very pleasurable at some point.

"I'm suspecting that I'm going to have to top up my liquor cabinet soon," mumbled Akihiko, folding the pillow over his head. "I also suspect I might throw up soon…"

Misaki whined and wriggled away. "Please don't." His own stomach lurched at the thought. "I need a drink." It took a lot of effort to haul himself out of bed and even more to stand straight. "Need anything?"

"More sleep," grunted Usagi-san, wriggling himself deeper into his sheets. Misaki rolled his eyes – clutching at his head when pain scored through him again – and tottered off to the kitchen to hunt for a headache remedy.

By midday, both of them were out of bed and still regretting their splurging the night before. Misaki had settled on the sofa with a book and a jug of water resting by his feet on the table, while Akihiko was lurking by the coffee machine as it burbled through its cycle.

"Bet you're glad you can have coffee again," said Misaki, adding in an undertone, "I sure am…"

Akihiko didn't even answer, but laid his head down on the counter beside the coffee machine. Misaki cackled to himself and slurped at his water.

"You better have asked the doctor if it was ok," he added. "You know they said about the caffeine the last time."

"Yes, I asked," groaned Akihiko. "It's fine. I'm having my coffee." Misaki turned his attention back to his book, listening as the coffee machine clicked off, and the liquid burbled into a mug. Finally, Usagi-san paced over to the sofa and eased down into his seat; Misaki watched him out of the corner of his eye, tracing the masculine line of the man's jaw and throat as he savoured the first gulp of his drink. It could not be understated how glad Misaki was to see Akihiko grown up again and a thought struck him.

"We should do something to celebrate and thank everyone," Misaki muttered, flicking through a few pages of his book but finding himself unable to care about the contents.

"We should?" grumbled Usagi-san, already nose deep in his coffee mug. "Can't we just send them all a thank you card and be done with it?"

"What? No, that's a dumb idea." Misaki swatted one of his lover's thighs with his book. "That's so cold! We should throw a party and invite everyone who helped."

Usagi-san sighed and set down his coffee reluctantly. "If you want. Make a list of the people you want to invite, and we can figure something out after that."

Misaki sprang to making the list, coming out the other end of it with Usagi-san's fellow sufferers, their partners, various family members, the doctors and a few of his friends.

"It'll only be about fifteen people," he counted, "If we count your dad and Tanaka-san. They'd come wouldn't they?"

"I'm sure. Of course, you'll struggle to get Tanaka-san to do anything but serving, but he could be a help."

Misaki nodded. This was one of the things he had come to accept over the course of Akihiko's hospitalisation – Tanaka-san was going to be helpful, whether you felt uncomfortable about it or not. It was simultaneously comforting and slightly irritating, but if you were planning to throw a party, he was a useful man to have around.

"Make it a cocktail evening," Akihiko suggested suddenly, "Not too much preparation, you can tell them to leave whenever you like, plenty of alcohol." He stopped talking abruptly and Misaki looked over in time to see him bury his face in the coffee mug again. "Let's not talk about this until we're not hung-over anymore, please..?"

* * *

By the end of the week, both the liquor cabinet and the fridge were full of various types of alcohol and Misaki was still poking through his collection of cook books to see what various snacks he could make.

They had chosen Saturday night for the party, so Misaki still had the rest of the day to prepare the penthouse. He had sent Usagi-san to be quiet in his study for a few hours while he tidied, until the man began to complain of being bored, so now he was sitting on the sofa with a table covered in glasses of various types and shapes. He was polishing them all with a cloth, with an aura of extreme care, like a small child tasked with something tricky.

The first person to arrive was Tanaka-san, smiling and followed by a couple of burly men struggling with a crate. For a few minutes Misaki feared that Usagi-chichi had sent another bear statue or, even worse, an actual bear, but when the lid was pried open and the contents displayed, it turned out to be a lot of very expensive champagne. They slipped a few bottles of the very expensive stuff in amongst the other bottles of slightly less expensive stuff and then Misaki scuttled around after the butler as he prowled around the house once, giving it a swift once over.

They returned to the main living area to find that Usagi-san had once again sprawled onto the sofa – Misaki chivvied him up again, with a few pinches just to speed him up a little – and then Misaki was at a loss. Butler or not, Tanaka-san was a guest in the house, but he cheerfully and politely refused any offers of refreshment, seemingly content to potter around and fix the few odds and ends that Misaki had previously not realised needed fixing. As the man vanished into a bathroom with a collection of half folded handtowels fresh from the dryer on his arm, Misaki caught hold of Usagi-san's arm and dragged him behind the kitchen counter.

"How do you not find this weird?" he hissed, "Not that I mind of course, but it's weird still!"

"He's a butler," said Usagi-san with as slight degree of resignation. "He's been a butler for long than I have been alive, and you simply cannot stop him from doing his job anymore. Just sit back and take it easy."

"But-"

"Pretend for one moment that you are not just an ordinary Japanese man, and that you are in fact one of the elite," continued Usagi-san, gently pushing Misaki over to the sofa and forcing him to sit down. "Sit down and enjoy being taken care of."

* * *

Guests began to arrive within an hour, and are each greeted at the door by Misaki and Akihiko; Aikawa arriving first and looking sane for once. Minami and Takahiro are close behind her and then the tide of arrivals truly starts.

The last person to arrive, in grand style and fashionably late, was Usami Fuyuhiko. Misaki was on the other side of the room, plying his literature teacher with as much champagne as he could feasibly pour in a glass, when he spotted the businessman and nearly sprinted across the room to reach him. Not that he wanted to impress the bastard or anything...

"Misaki-kun! Don't you look smart." He was granted a sharp smile that was slightly too close to Akihiko's own leer for Misaki's comfort. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a suit before."

"Ah-hah…" Misaki looked down at himself; he was indeed wearing the most expensive pieces of clothing that he had ever owned – purchased courtesy of Usagi-san's credit cards of course – and he didn't look too bad in the scheme of things. Next to Usami Fuyuhiko, who had probably spent the last forty years wearing almost exclusively suits, he felt a bit scruffy. Thankfully, before he could respond, Akihiko swanned up behind him, almost trailing a visible trail of glamour.

Usami Fuyuhiko glanced over at his son, and a brief moment of perplexity crossed his brow.

"When did you get so tall?" he asked, sizing up the few inches difference in his and his son's height.

"When you weren't paying attention," said Akihiko, expertly fending his father's coat off onto the waiting Tanaka-san, and grinning cheekily.

A brief flicker of exasperation covered Usagi-chichi's face, before it creased into a smile and the man laughed. "Funny, Akihiko. But before I inflict anymore of your humour upon myself, you might direct me towards some high-grade spirits."

"Still a whisky drinker? Or shall I open one of the bottles of champagne you sent us..?" They trailed away into the party, leaving Misaki to quickly do a head count and check that all of the guest were present.

For once Misaki was grateful that that Usami Akihiko was from a ridiculous and rich family. Not only was the man's house more than big enough for the number of people they had invited, but they had Tanaka-san to help with the preparation and serving. Misaki ended up with his own flute of champagne – which he sipped lightly to avoid any messy drunken situations later on -, watching on as the butler worked the room with mysterious ease.

This enabled him to chat with his guests though, so he supposed it was all right. He had already discussed work schedules with Asahina-san, and blushed his way through a tortuously long teasing session courtesy of Isaka-san, before the older man had been caught and dragged away by his secretary.

Grateful for his reprieve, Misaki found himself bereft of companionship for a second – everyone else had somehow paired up and seemed to be all in in-depth conversations – until, without a single sound, Tanaka-san appeared at his right elbow and offered him a glass of champagne. Misaki wasn't good with champagne – it was bubbly and alcoholic and that was really all he knew about it – but somehow he instinctively knew that this was the really expensive stuff and accepted the glass.

"Thank you," he said, sipping quickly and then glancing up at the butler. Tanaka-san wasn't tall like the various members of the Usami family, but he was still taller than Misaki.

"Um," he said, lowering the glass, "I don't think I've said yet… Thank you for helping."

The butler smiled and bowed his head slightly in acceptance, the tray balanced on his arm not even wobbling. "My pleasure, Takahashi-sama. It is merely my job."

Misaki smiled at him and went back to his champagne. He had expected Tanaka-san to glide off again, but was startled when the man spoke again beside him.

"Takahashi-san, I want to thank you as well, for taking care of Akihiko-sama when he was so ill."

Misaki looked up again, a blush hurtling across his face at full speed, but Tanaka-san's expression was as sincere and honest as ever, downright _grateful_ even.

"I don't think he would have made it in the end, if you hadn't been there," the butler continued, voice dropping into a quieter register momentarily. Misaki's blush darkened even more, until he was sure that it would have been possible to light the entire room with the red glow coming off his cheeks.

He laughed nervously and went to take a sip of his champagne to hide his embarrassment, but before his lips touched the glass, he paused and said, "I guess that's kind of my job now, in a way…"

The butler smiled brightly at him, a sudden expression which didn't quite fit with his constant air of almost eerie perfectionism – although Misaki was glad that he had seen it, because it served to remind him that the man was actually human – gave Misaki another shallow bow, and slipped off into the small crowd. Misaki stood at the edge and stared, until Usagi-san crept up behind him.

"You look as if someone just dropped an anvil on you," the older man said, gently chinking his whisky glass against Misaki's champagne flute. "Penny for your thoughts?"

With an abrupt shake of his shoulders, Misaki revived himself and smiled up at the author. "I'm fine," he said honestly. "Perfectly fine. Come on, I want to speak to Dr. Fujioka, and you might as well come with because I'm going to be speaking about _you_."

* * *

Aikawa-san remained incredibly peppy, even more so with a few glasses of champagne inside her, and after a fifteen minute long conversation that Nowaki had to keep redirecting into waters that weren't going to make Hiro-san explode with rage or embarrassment, the doctor was feeling a bit worn out.

Dr. Fujioka sidled past them to fetch another glass and paused to speak with Hiroki, while Nowaki excused himself to get some air. He wound his way through the party and slipped out through the glass windows; outside there was a chill on the breeze, but the air was clear and clean. He took a few chest-stretching gulps to clear his head and then glanced about. To his surprise, the balcony was already occupied – the stupid size of the place had prevented him from noticing before. Perhaps if he had known, he wouldn't have come out here – the other person was Usami-san, on his own and holding a glass of something.

Their gazes met, and then Usami-san swirled his drink - whisky, by the slowly creeping gurgle of the amber liquid within the glass - and cocked his head welcomingly. Clearly the dose of alcohol he had already imbibed had soothed any of the man's personality issues, and Nowaki was feeling fairly soothed himself. He hadn't had much prior opportunity to enjoy expensive alcohol, but the soft taste and the heat in his throat indicated that this was _very_ expensive alcohol indeed. He'd drank just enough to defend himself from the chill outside, but he still shivered slightly at the cold air as he joined the other man on the balcony.

The view was impressive and he mentioned as much. The city glimmered and shivered in the distance and stars were faintly visible in the night sky above them.

"You never get to see the stars in the city," said Nowaki regretfully.

"A pity," said Usami-san, leaning on the balcony wall and sipping his whisky. He looked a man confident, in his traditional costume of a suit and proud in his own territory. "I've never lived anywhere I couldn't see them. "

They stood in silence for a while, almost amicable for once. Nowaki joined the other man in leaning up against the wall and savoured another mouthful of his champagne.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Hiro-san said you were all better."

"Back to the age and size I should be," the man rumbled, "And they tell me all the blood markers are back to the way they should be, so I assume so. Yourself?"

"Healthier than I was before!" Nowaki chuckled to himself and explained. "I found that exercise helped a lot with the growing pains, so I took up swimming."

"Oh." Usami-san glanced back over his shoulder at the party inside, eyes momentarily flickering over all of those present until he located Takahashi-kun. He smiled, so briefly that if Nowaki hadn't been watching closely he never would have notice it. It didn't seem to be an expression that settled naturally on the man's face, but it was pleasant in its rarity.

"And how is Takahashi-kun?" asked Nowaki, and seconds later found that he had indeed discovered the key to getting Usami-san to open up a bit.

"He's fine. Trying to focus onto his university course and his work now. The last months have been very disruptive for him." Momentarily a grimace chased the smile across his face and he immediately chased that with a gulp of his whisky.

Misaki-kun was now talking to Usami-san's father, dwarfed by the businessman man's stocky shape. Instinctively Nowaki was just a bit unnerved by the man's presence near him - it was the eyes, he decided, which held a permanent cunning, a watchfulness which went beyond the normal and on into the predatory.

"And your father?"

This earned him Usami-san's version of that same predatory look, a cooler, paler version that nevertheless made the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. "Excellent, I'm sure." He was no longer so effusive and the champagne that was currently causing little coronas around the lights in the far city in Nowaki's vision made him speak up.

"He was very worried when you became so sick," he blurted.

"Yes, I was told." Usami-san considered his whisky again and then straightened, looking just past Nowaki's left ear as he talked. "I know that my suspicion of my family must seem as rude and paranoid in everyone else's eyes, but just for one moment, I would like at least one person to believe me when I say I have my reasons."

"I never had parents," said Nowaki softly. "I'm not sure if I can."

"I would say you can have mine, but I'm not sure I would wish them on anyone else." He shrugged. "Certainly not my mother at any rate."

"I'm sorry," said Nowaki honestly. For all he really didn't like Usami Akihiko, he really hated the idea of a child unhappy in his parents.

The blond man knocked back the last of his whisky and sighed. "Oh well..." he offered to take Nowaki's glass for a refill of champagne - he hadn't realised that he'd drained the last of it while they had been being gloomy together, and declined the refill for now. "I may follow your example - whisky always makes me morose anyway."

As Usami-san reached for the door, Nowaki blurted "I won't mention what you just said to me to anyone, I promise. I think that's something you should be able to share on your own terms."

Cool blue eyes met his again, and then the man smiled, and, for once, it was a truly pleasant expression. "Thank you, I appreciate that."

"I should probably get back to Hiro-san now. He'll be wondering what we're talking about."

"He'll be suspecting we were ganging up on him," said Usami-san, an evil smirk developing on his face. "That would be terrible."

Nowaki glanced back at Hiro-san, to indeed find that his lover was developing his suspicious expression once more, and found himself laughing.

* * *

Misaki crept into the corner for a brief moment of relaxation, eyeing everyone to make sure they were entertained and well supplied with food and drink. The ever helpful Tanaka-san was still floating back and forth, expertly patrolling the party with that ease that Misaki was faintly envious of. He spotted Usagi-san out on the terrace, leaning elegantly on the wall and gesturing to his conversational partner with his whisky glass. Surprisingly – and kind of worryingly, for their previous clashes – he was speaking with Nowaki, smiles on both their handsome faces.

In case one of them snapped and threw the other off the balcony or something – and also because two tall, beautiful men in smart suits were worth watching – Misaki took a moment or so to monitor them. He was abruptly surprised by his brother, appearing from behind Usami Fuyuhiko's hulking form like a puppy jumping about a grizzled old wolf.

"Misaki!" He swept his brother up into an over exuberant hug, nearly lifting him off the ground. "It's been so long! How are you doing? Is everything all right?"

Misaki pried himself away and straightened his suit – he was uncomfortable in it still, but that didn't mean that he wanted it to be mussed. "Yes, nii-san, everything is fine. Didn't you listen when Usagi-san invited you? This is a party to celebrate everyone being better."

Minami gave him a knowing look, carefully taking hold of her husband's arm to prevent him leaping on his little brother again. "Well, I thought it was a lovely reason to have a party. I'm sure it was a very trying time for you, Misaki."

"It wasn't fun," agreed Misaki, nodding firmly. "But everything turned all right in the end, so I suppose that's what's important."

Takahiro cocked his head curiously, and asked, "What on earth did happen? It's been so long since I've heard from you…"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious attempt at a guilt trip, Misaki explained the events as briefly as he could. He had spoken to his brother repeatedly during Usagi-san's recovery period, but he hadn't been able to think over the more critical days without wanting to vomit. Now, with his lover fully sized and back to his normal idiotic, perverted self again, the past seemed so much further away, clamped down in a safe place where it couldn't hurt them anymore.

By the end of his woeful tale, Takahiro was nearly vibrating with sorrow and guilt, and, in the background, Usami Fuyuhiko was obviously having to focus very hard on not laughing out loud.

"That's terrible," said Takahiro when Misaki finished. "So awful! You should have told me, Misaki, I would have come over and helped!"

"They did tell us, dear," said Minami mildly.

"Yes, but they didn't say how bad it was!" Takahiro fell about Misaki's neck again, nearly dragging him to the floor. "My poor little brother. Usagi-chan does appreciate what you've been doing for him – I know he's been sick, but that won't excuse taking advantage of you!"

"He's appreciated me quite enough," grumbled Misaki, grateful for the alcoholic flush that had already settled on his cheeks, for it neatly disguised his newest blush. Minami smiled brightly, in a way that reminded him ominously of Aikawa-san on the hunt for a new BL concept, and distracted her husband neatly by asking him to introduce her to Kamijou-sensei and his tall friend.

"I know your brother, don't I?" rumbled Usami Fuyuhiko, as soon as Takahiro was out of earshot. "I vaguely remember him coming around to the house a few times.

"Yeah, he and Akihiko-san are friends." Reluctantly, Misaki stepped forward and stood beside the businessman. "If he was talking to you earlier, I'm really sorry; he means no harm, he's just really enthusiastic." And thankfully oblivious, Misaki added in the sanctity of his own head.

"I found him quite refreshing. I vaguely remembered his rather breathless style of conversation from a guest that once got lost in the east wing." He paused and added, conspiratorially, "I don't know how he got in there, since all the doors were locked."

Giggling, Misaki said, "He's never shared that story with me!"

"You would have expected him to?" asked Usagi-chichi, looking sceptical.

"We were really close when I was younger, " said Misaki, not entirely sure why he was sharing this with this man of all people. "But we've grown apart now."

"I'm guessing thatyou have your fair share of things you don't share with him now?" Fuyuhiko twitched one eyebrow and smirked neatly, in an infuriatingly knowing fashion. Misaki glanced across the room, to where Takahiro was now conversing merrily with Kamijou-sensei, who was growling answers in return. Beside them, Nowaki and Minami were talking mutually happily, occasionally casting knowing looks at their partners. "Oh well!" The older man continued to talk, disregarding Misaki's pointed silence. "There's plenty of things that I'm refusing to discuss with my brother as well, so I can hardly talk."

Misaki's head swung around sharply, the alcohol having only muffled his reservations and not yet dimmed his reflexes. " _You_ have a brother?" he asked.

"An older one," he said, a brief little frown passing over his face as he sipped his whisky. "And an older sister. You remember Mizuki-kun of course? My sister is his mother."

A few more branches snapped into place on Misaki's mental Usami family tree. "You don't talk with your brother?" he mumbled, ducking his face closer to his champagne.

Usami Fuyuhiko smiled unpleasantly. "My brother enjoys what he does, and has made a point of telling me he wouldn't do my job for anything in the world, but he does rather resent that I have a few billion dollars in several banks and he does not. It has soured our relationship somewhat."

Misaki could imagine. He was about to do a little subtle prying, when Usagi-san suddenly called for everyone's attention and the crowd of their friends and family gravitated around the bottom of the stairs, which the man was using as a podium. Misaki took a position at the back of the crowd, in case Usagi-san said something horrifically embarrassing and he needed to run away – something which he was grateful for when the author briefly caught his eye and gave him a quick little grin that only Misaki seemed to spot.

Everyone quietened down and looked up at Akihiko expectantly. For a moment he stood silent and then he smiled brightly – that glitzy, glamour-laden smile he would always pull out at social occasions – and began to speak, voice perfectly pitched and tone silky smooth.

"This evening has merely been a token of mine and Misaki's appreciation, to thank you for whatever you've done for us while I have been sick. I am acutely aware that I am never the best patient, and that I was even worse as a young teenager, so I feel I should probably also apologise in retrospect for driving those of you who had to deal with me insane." He paused and his eyes flickered across the crowd. "The past few months have been nothing less than a hellish experience and I can say with the utmost certainty that I never want to experience anything similar again. But I also feel that I came out of this in a stronger position than I went in – as it turns out, there's nothing like a near death experience to straighten out a few relationship problems." A soft rumble of luahter rang out briefly, and Usagi-san gave a quick moment to die out. "And now I would like to call for some toasts, as a final display of my gratitude." He took a breath and raised his champagne glass in front of him.

"To the doctors, who worked night and day to keep their patients alive and comfortable. I can safely and surely say, without your efforts I would dead now."

Glasses were raised and champagne sipped, both Dr Fujioka and Dr Hideki bowing their heads slightly in acceptance.

"For my friends and family, who did what they could to keep me safe and played their part in delivering the cure. In particular, for Misaki, who dropped everything to care for me and still hasn't stopped. Thank you."

The toast was cheerfully echoed about the room, Misaki taking his a second after everyone else

"And to my fellow sufferers, I can't tell you how glad I am that you are better as well."

Nowaki-san and Asahina-san repeated this toast extra loudly, and Akihiko shared a smile with them both.

"So, one last toast, please," Usagi-san then purred, and Misaki raised his glass without even really intending to, so strong was the power that the man's rhetoric had on him. "To being ourselves again."

This toast was echoed about the room and Akihiko stepped down off the bottom stair, expertly avoiding anyone who might have distracted him from slipping across the room to Misaki's side.

"Now," he said, inclining his head to whisper in Misaki's ear, "We just have to get these people out of my house."

* * *

The place was a mess, plates and glasses and empty bottle on nearly every horizontal surface, and they didn't even have the luxury of Tanaka-san to clear it up for them. Misaki banged his head softly against the door as he locked it closed and then found himself being pulled into a strong embrace, the soft scent of Akihiko's cologne soothing his tiredness, the warmth of the man's body buoying him momentarily.

"Let's go to bed," the older man rumbled, pulling Misaki gently in the direction of the stairs.

"But, Usagi-san, the mess…"

"There's always tomorrow for that." He fixed Misaki with a soft lavender gaze and smiled a little smile that made Misaki's hair stand on end. "Come to bed with me."

It had been a long day, if enjoyable, and Misaki was overjoyed to reach his bed. Beside him, Usagi-san was fumbling to remove his tie, his droopy fatigue a sudden counterpoint to his cheeriness as finally people had finally filed out of their home. Finally Misaki can no longer bear to see him struggle and reaches over broad shoulders to help unslip the knot. As he tries to withdraw, to undo his own tie and strip off his very nice but not entirely him suit, strong hands catch his wrists and pull him close, so his arms are wrapped in a hug about Akihiko's neck and his cheek is pressed to the silky mop of the man's hair.

"Are you all right?" He asks haltingly, unable to prevent himself from cuddling a little closer and rubbing his cheek against the man's hair - strands begin to escape forward from their previously suave and slicked back position, and Akihiko twitches his head slightly to knock them out of his vision.

"I just wanted a little Misaki to keep me going," he rumbled. Misaki tensed in preparation for a pouncing which never came. "And I'm tired."

"You've only just recovered," said Misaki, untangling himself reluctantly and crawling across the bed to sit by Usagi-san's side, dangling his feet off the edge of the bed and shifting so that their thighs bumped together. "Just throw your clothes into the basket and I'll sort what needs to go for dry cleaning tomorrow."

"Like you'll have time for that," said Usagi-san drooping his head to lean on Misaki's shoulder. It was an ungainly position and for a brief guilty second Misaki wished that the man was still small again, so they would both fit together in this comforting pose. "Give me just a minute."

Misaki waited patiently, one hand drifting up as if of its own accord to pet the man's hair, before becoming acutely aware that Usagi-san was for all intents and purposes asleep on his shoulder.

"Come on you lazy sod," he said, no malice in his voice, jolting his lover up with a shrug of his shoulders. "Change and get into bed."

Reluctantly, and with the grace of a small and sulky child, Usagi-san changed into his pyjamas, arranged his suit over its hanger in the vaguest possible fashion and collapsed into bed. Misaki monitored him the whole way to make sure he would get it done. As soon as the other man flopped into bed, the sudden weight of fatigue slammed down onto the younger man's shoulders instead. He didn't even bother to sling his suit on a hanger, but threw it haphazardly over the back of a chair and climbed into bed without even putting his pyjamas on.

"It's no fair seducing me like that when we're both so tired, Misaki," rumbled Usagi-san, rolling over and slinging a heavy arm across Misaki's midriff. He pressed a soft kiss to Misaki's throat and then snuggled down into the pillows, breathing evening out for a few minutes.

Misaki forced himself to relax too, feeling the heavy feeling of exhaustion draining out of his body, until he was just balancing on the edge of sleep. Beside him, Usagi-san shifted slightly and Misaki looked across, to meet a pair of sleepy lavender blue eyes watching him vaguely.

"What?" he croaked, slightly irritated about being prevented from slipping all the way into sleep. This was immediately quashed by the sleepy sweet smile Akihiko gifted him with.

"To being ourselves again," he said softly, the hand that was draped over Misaki's stomach catching hold of the younger man's own hand and squeezing gently.

Breath caught in his chest, heart throbbing painfully hard, Misaki could barely speak. God, he loved this man; painfully, excruciatingly so. He just hoped Akihiko knew it. He rolled over, as Akihiko did the same, so they faced each other on the pillows, hands still clasped tightly.

"To being _us_ ," Usagi-san said, and Misaki leant forward to briefly kiss him.

Through his blush afterwards, through the film of emotion forming quickly on his eyes, Misaki repeated his lover's words, in a voice choked up with affection, "Yeah; to being us."

* * *

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, it is done. My relief is fucking immeasurable – I did enjoy writing this story, but, as I'm sure you've noticed, my inspiration waned somewhat towards the end there. I'm just glad it's finished, and on a nice sappy note too!
> 
> I can't thank my readers and my reviewers enough – especially those who took time to offer me such excellent concrit. I'll be sweeping back through the chapters and doing some editing thanks to that, and hopefully the story will be even better once it's been nicely polished up. But seriously, this is the story that got me the best responses ever, and I think it's really developed me as a writer, so thanks guys! You're amazeballs! =P
> 
> As far as new updates go – keep an eye on Soul Searching after November. I'm going to do NaNoWriMo, and I think that Soul Searching is my best chance at hitting my target. There's another series planned to mirror my Grains of Sugar series, and an immensely smutty thing that I'm drifting about with as well, so watch this space!
> 
> Love to you all! FLC xx

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no! Whatever could happen? Have I dropped enough hints yet? Was there enough exposition in this chapter for you?
> 
> And don't worry, things will be better explained when we come to it, hopefully cushioned by some fun and interesting stuff! I've put too much thought into an imaginary disease, when there are so many real ones I should be learning about.
> 
> Next chapter – we'll head up a rating for some light smut. Do stay around.


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